LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  O 
CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 


yc 


■M 


m&> 


5S 


WITH     AN      AWFUL     SINKING     AT     HEART,     THEY     SAW     HIM      PASS 
THROUGH    THE  SPOT   WHERE  THE    MIST    WAS   THINNEST.     Page  143. 


ST.  WINIFRED'S 


oa 


THE   WORLD    OF    SCHOOL 


FIY 


*  REDERIC  W<  FARRAR,  D.  D. 

■SAJTER    OF     MARinOROCSH    C0LLE8K  ;    Al'fHOR    OP     "THE    LIFE    OF     CBU3I 
'jULiJtt    HOME,"    "  ERIC  ;    OR,    LITTLE    BY    LITTLE"    *TC. 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 

31  West  Twenty-third  Street 
1893. 


SACRED    MEMORY 

<SM  <©itf  \vs  Deaben, 

THESE  PAGES 
WHICH     FAINTLY     STRIVE     TO     INCnLC»T« 

r  tl  K    COURAGE,    THE    VIRTUE,    AND    THE    TENDfc.KNKSi 

OP  which 

irt«*     UtE     WAS     SO     SHINING     AN     EXAMPLE, 

ARE    DEDICATED 

WITH    AFFECTION    TOO    STRONG    FOR    WORDS, 

WITH  REGRET   TOO    DEEP    FOR   TEARS. 


CONTENTS. 


PAKT   I. 

I. — Walter's  Home 1 

II St.  Winifred's 13 

III.— New  Boys 16 

IV. — Friends  and  Foes 26 

V. — ScnooL  Troubles S5 

VI. — A  Burst  of  Wilfulness                    .        .               .  Si 

VII. — Vogue  la  Galere 50 

VIII. — The  Burnt  Manuscript 66 

IX.— Penitence 76 

X. — Uphillwards 86 

XI. — Happier  Hours 10'2 

XII.— My  Brother's  Keeper 110 

XIII.— Daubeny 118 

XIV. — Appenfell 127 

XV.— In  the  Clouds 13G 

XVL— On  the  Razor 144 

XVII  — TnE  Good  Resolve 155 

XVIII.  -The  Martyr-Student 161 

XIX  —The  School  Bell 169 

XX.  —Farewell 178 

XXI  -Kenriok's  Home 182 

XXII.  -Birds  of  a  Feather 194 

XXIII.— A  Broken  Friendship 207 

XXrV.— Eden's  Troubles          .        .                .        .        ,        .  21ti 


CONTENTS. 


XXV To  the  Rescue    ... 

XXVI.— A  Turbulent  School  Meeting 

XXVII The  Monitors      . 

XXVIII.— Falling  Away    . 

XXIX.— Walter's  Holidays    . 


225 
233 
247 
258 
264 


PART    II. 


XXX.— Old  and  New  Faces 270 

XXXI — Among  the  Noelites 278 

XXXII — Disenchantment 201 

XXXIII Martyrdom 304 

XXXIV A  Conspiracy  Foiled        .  ...    317 

XXXV The  Final  Fracas ,328 

XXXVI In  the  Depths     .  344 

XXXVII. — The  Reconciliation  and  the  Loss  .       .       .       .364 

IXXV1II The  Stupor  Broken 378 

XXXLX On  the  Dark  Sea 396 

XL. — What  the  Sea  gave  dp .404 


ST.  WINIFRED'S. 


PART    I. 


CHAFFER  THE   FIRST. 


Walter's  home. 


GOOD-BYE,  Walter  ;  good-bye,  Walter  dear  !  good 
bye  ;"  and  the  last  note  of  this  chorus  was  "  Dood 
bye,"  from  a  blue-eyed,  fair-haired  girl  of  two  years, 
as  Walter  disengaged  his  arms  from  his  mother's  neck,  and 
sprang  into  the  carriage  which  had  already  been  waiting  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  to  convey  him  and  his  luggage  to  the 
station. 

It  is  the  old  old  story:  Mr.  Evson  was  taking  his  son  tc 
a  large  public  school,  and  this  was  the  first  time  that  WaL 
ter  had  left  home.  Nearly  every  father  who  deigns  to 
open  this  little  book  has  gone  through  the  scene  himself; 
and  he  and  his  sons  will  know  from  personal  experience  the 
thoughts,  and  sensations,  and  memories,  which  occupied  the 
minds  of  Walter  Evson  and  his  father,  as  the  carriage 
drove  through  the  garden  gate  and  the  village  street,  bear- 
ing the  eldest  boy  of  the  young  family  from  the  sacred  and 
quiet  shelter  of  a  loving  home,  to  a  noisy  and  independent 
life  among  a  number  of  strange  and  young  companions. 
If  you  have  ever  stood  on  the  hill  from  which  Wa'tei 


g  SEMLTN. 

caught  a  last  glimpse  of  the  home  he  was  leaving,  and 

waved  his  final  farewell  to  his  mother,  you  are  not  likely  to 

have  forgotten  the  scene  which  was  then  spread  before  your 

eyes.     On  the  right  hand  side,  the  low  hills,  covered  with 

urs,  rise  in  gentle  slopes  one  over  the  other,  till  they  reach 

rite  huge  green   shoulder  of  the  mountain,  around  whose 

summits  the  clouds  are  generally  weaving  their  awful  and 

ever  changing  diadem.     To  the  left,  between  the  road  and 

a  lower  range  of  wooded  undulations,  is  a  deep  and  retired 

glen,  through  which  a  mountain  stream  babbles  along  its 

hurried  course,  tumbling  sometimes  in  a  noisy  cataract  and 

rushing  wildly  through  the  rough  boulder  stones  which  it 

has  carried  from  the  heights,  or  deepening  into  some  quiet 

pool,  bright  and  smooth  as  glass,  on  the  margin  of  which 

the  great  purple  loosestrife  and  the  long  fern  leaves  bend 

down  as  though  to  gaze  at  their  own  reflected  beauty.     In 

front,  and  at  your  feet,  opens  a  rich  valley,  which  is  almost 

filled  as  far  as  the  roots  of  the  mountains  by  a  lovely  lake, 

Beside  this  lake  the  white  houses  of  a  little  village  cluster 

around  the  elevation  on  which  the  church  and  churchyard 

stand  ;   while  on  either  shore  rising  among  the  fir  groves 

that  overshadow  the  first  swellings  of  the  hills,  are  a  few 

sequestered  villas,  commanding  a  prospect  of  rare  beauty, 

and  giving  a  last  touch  of  interest  to  the  surrounding  view. 

In  one  of  these  houses — that  one  with  the  crowded  gables 

not  a  hundred  feet  above  the  lake,  opposite  to  which  you 

see  the  swans  pluming  their  wings  in  the  sunlight,  and  the 

green  boat  in  its  little  boat-house — lived  the  hero  of  our 

story;  and  no  boy  could  have  had  a  dearer  or  lovelier  home. 

His  father,  Mr.  Evson,  was  a  man  in  easy,  and  almost  in 

affluent  circumstances,  who  having  no  regular  occupation, 

had  chosen  for  himself  this  quiet  retreat,  and  devoted  all 

his  time  and  care  to  the  education  of  his  family,  and  the 

ordinary  duties  of  a  country  gentleman. 


HOME.  6 


Walter  was  the  eldest  child,  a  graceful,  active,  bright- 
eyed  boy.  Up  to  this  time — and  he  was  now  thirteen 
years  old — he  had  had  no  other  teaching  but  that  of  his 
father,  and  of  a  tutor,  who  for  the  last  year  had  lived  in 
the  house.  His  education,  therefore,  differed  considerably 
from  that  of  many  boys  of  his  own  age,  and  the  amount  of 
book  knowledge  which  he  had  acquired  was  small  as  yet ; 
but  he  was  full  of  that  intelligent  interest  iu  things  most 
worth  knowing,  which  is  the  best  and  surest  guarantee  for 
future  progress. 

Let  me  pause  for  a  moment  to  relate  how  a  refined  and 
simple-hearted  gentleman  had  hitherto  brought  up  his  young 
buys.  I  do  not  pronounce  whether  the  method  was  right 
or  wrong  ;  I  only  describe  it  as  it  was  ;  and  its  success  or 
failure  must  be  inferred  from  the  following  pages. 

The  positive  teaching  of  the  young  Evsons  did  not  begin 
too  early.  Till  they  were  ten  or  twelve  years  old  neaily  all 
they  did  know  had  come  to  them  either  intuitively  or  with- 
out any  conscious  labor.  They  were  allowed  almost  to 
live  in  the  open  air,  and  nature  was  their  wise  and  tender 
teacher.  Some  object  was  invented,  if  possible,  for  every 
walk.  Now  it  was  to  find  the  shy  recesses  of  the  wood  where 
the  wild  strawberries  were  thickest,  or  where  the  white  vio- 
lets and  the  rarest  orchis  flowers  were  hid;  or  to  climb  along 
the  rocky  sides  of  the  glen  to  seek  the  best  spot  for  a 
rustic  meal,  and  find  mossy  stones  and  flower-banks  for 
seats  and  tables  near  some  waterfall  or  pool. 

When  they  were  a  little  older  their  father  would  amuse 
and  encourage  them  until  they  had  toiled  up  even  to  the 
very  summit  of  all  the  nearest  hills,  and  there  they  would 
catch  the  fresh  breeze  which  blew  from  the  far  off  sea,  or 
pazc  wonderingly  at  the  summer  lightuing  flashing  behind 
the  chain  of  hills,  or  watch,  with  mauy  playful  fancies,  the 
long;  o-on-'eous  conflagration  of  the  summer  sunset.     And 


10  EDUCATION. 

in  such  excursions  their  father  or  mother  would  teach  them 
without  seeming  to  teach  them,  until  they  were  thoroughl 
familiar  with  the  names  and  properties  of  all  the  commonest 
plants,  and  eagerly  interested  to  secure  for  their  little  col- 
lections, or  to  plant  in  their  gardens,  the  different  varieties 
of  all  the  wild  flowers  that  were  found  about  their  home. 
Or,  again,  when  they  sate  out  in  the  garden,  or  wandered 
back  in  the  autumn  twilight  from  some  gipsy  party,  they 
were  taught  to  recognize  the  stars  and  planets,  until  Mars 
and  Jupiter,  Orion  and  Cassiopeia,  the  Pleiads  and  the 
Northern  Crown,  seemed  to  look  down  upou  them  like  old 
and  beloved  friends. 

It  was  easy,  too,  and  pleasant,  to  teach  them  to  love 
and  to  treat  tenderly  all  living  things — to  observe  the 
little  black-eyed  squirrel  without  disturbing  him  wiiile  he 
cracked  his  nuts  ;  to  watch  the  thistle-thrush's  nest  till  the 
timid  bird  had  learned  to  sit  there  fearlessly,  and  not  scurry 
away  at  their  approach  ;  and  to  visit  the  haunts  of  the 
moor-hen  without  causing  any  consternation  to  her  or  her 
little  black  velvet  progeny.  Visitors  who  stayed  at  the 
house  were  always  delighted  to  see  how  all  creatures  seemed 
to  trust  the  children  ;  how  the  canary  would  carol  ill  its 
cage  when  they  came  into  the  room  ;  how  the  ponies  would 
come  trotting  to  the  boys  across  the  field,  and  the  swans 
float  up  and  plume  their  mantling  wings,  expecting  food 
and  caresses,  whenever  they  came  in  sight. 

The  lake  was  a  source  of  endless  amusement  to  them  ; 
summer  and  winter  they  might  have  been  seen  bathing  in 
its  waters  till  they  were  bold  swimmers,  or  lying  to  read 
their  books  in  the  boat  under  the  shade  of  the  trees,  or 
rowing  about  till  the  little  boy  of  six  years  was  allowed  to 
paddle  himself  alone  to  the  other  side,  and  even  when  the 
waves  were  rough,  and  the  winds  high,  the  elder  ones  were 
not  afraid  to  venture  out.     In  short,  they  were  healthy  and 


ENGLISH    BOYS.  l'i 

jianly  mountain-boys,  with  all  their  senses  admirably  exer 
sised,  and  their  powers  of  observation  so  well  trained,  that 
they  sometimes  amazed  their  London  cousins  by  pointing 
to  some  falcon  poised  far  off  above  its  prey,  which  was  but 
a  speck  to  less  practised  eyes,  or  calling  attention  to  the 
sweetness  of  some  wood-bird's  note,  indistinguishable  to 
less  practised  ears. 

Even  in  such  lessons  as  these  they  would  have  made  but 
little  progress  if  they  had  not  been  trained  in  the  nursery 
to  be  hardy,  modest,  truthful,  unselfish,  and  obedient. 
This  work  had  effectually  been  done  when  alone  it  can  be 
effectually  done,  in  the  earliest  childhood,  when  the  sweet 
and  plastic  nature  may  acquire  for  all  that  is  right  and 
good  the  powerful  aid  of  habit,  before  the  will  and  the  pas- 
sions are  fully  conscious  of  their  dangerous  and  stubborn 
powei*. 

Let  no  one  say  that  I  have  been  describing  some  youth- 
ful prodigies.  There  are  thousands  such  as  I  describe  in 
all  happy  and  well-ordered  English  homes;  there  might  be 
thousands  more  if  parents  spent  a  more  thoughtful  care 
upon  the  growth  of  their  children  ;  there  will  be  many, 
many  thousands  more  as  the  world,  "  in  the  rich  dawn  of 
an  ampler  day,"  in  the  gradual  yet  noble  progress  of  social 
and  moral  improvement,  becomes  purer  and  holier,  and 
more  like  Him  who  came  to  be  the  ideal  of  the  loftiest, 
yet  the  lowliest,  of  the  most  clear-sighted  yet  the  mosl 
loving,  of  the  most  happy,  and  yet  the  most  humble  man 
hood 


CHAPTER   THE   SECOND. 


st.  winifked's. 


WA  LTER'S  destination  was  the  school  of  St.  Wini 
fred.     St.  Winifred's  school  stands  by  the  sea-side, 
on  the  shores  of  a  little  bay  embraced  and  closed  ir 
by  a  range  of  hills,  whose  sweeping  semicircle  is  only  termi- 
nated on  either  side  by  the  lofty  cliffs  which,  in  some  places,  are 
fringed  at  the  base  by  a  margin  of  sand  and  shingle,  and  in 
others  descend  with  sheer  precipices  into  the  ever-boiling  surf. 
Owing  to  the  mountainous  nature  of  the  country,  the  railroad 
cannot  approach  within  a  distance  of  five  miles,  and  to  reach 
the  school  you  must  drive  through  the  dark  groves  which 
cover  the  lower  shoulder  of  one  of  the  surrounding  mountains. 
When  you  reach  the  summit,  of  this  ascent,  the  bay  of  St. 
Winifred  lies  before  you;  that  line  of  white  houses  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  from  the  shore  is  the  village,  and  the  large 
picturesque  building  of  old  grey  stone,  standing  in  the  angle 
where  the  little  river  reaches  the  sea,  is  St.  Winifred's 
School. 

The  carriage  stopped  at  the  grand  Norman  archway  of 
the  court.  The  school  porter — the  Famulus  as  they  classi- 
cally called  him — a  fine-looking  man,  whose  honest  English 
face  showed  an  amount  of  thought  and  refinement  above  his 
station,  opened  the  gate,  and,  consigning  Walter's  play-box 
and  portmanteau  to  one  of  the  school  servants,  directed 
Mr.  Evson  across  the  court  and  along  some  cloisters  to  the 
house  of  Dr.  Lane,  the  head  master.  The  entering  ot 
Walter's  name  on  the  school  books  was  soon  accomplished, 
and  he  was  aasigned  as  private  pupil  to  Mr.  Robertson,  oufl 

1-2 


FATHEK    AND    SON.  IS 

oi  the  tutors.  Dr.  Lane  then  spoke  a  word  of  encourage 
ment  to  the  young  stranger,  and  he  walked  back  with  hia 
father  across  the  court  to  the  gate,  where  the  carriage  was 
still  waiting  to  take  Mr.  Evson  to  meet  the  next  train. 

"Please  let  us  walk  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  papa,"  said 
Walter  ;  "  I  shan't  be  wanted  till  tea-time,  and  I  needn't 
bid  good-bye  to  you  here." 

Mr.  Evson  was  as  little  anxious  as  Walter  to  hasten  the 
parting.  They  had  never  been  separated  before.  Mr. 
Evson  could  look  back  for  the  rare  period  of  thirteen  years, 
during  which  they  had  enjoyed,  by  God's  blessing,  an  al- 
most uninterrupted  happiness.  lie  had  begun  life  again 
with  his  young  children;  he  could  thoroughly  sympathize 
alike  with  their  thoughts  and  with  their  thoughtlessness,  and 
by  training  them  in  a  manner  at  once  wise  and  linn,  he  had 
been  spared  the  greater  part  of  that  anxiety  and  disap- 
pointment which  generally  spring  from  our  own  mismanage- 
ment. He  deeply  loved,  and  was  heartily  proud  of  his 
eldest  boy.  There  is  no  exaggeration  in  saying  that  Wal- 
ter had  all  the  best  gifts  which  a  parent  could  desire.  There 
was  something  very  interesting  in  his  appearance,  and  very 
winning  in  his  modest  and  graceful  manners.  It  was  im- 
possible to  see  him  and  not  be  struck  with  his  fine  open 
face,  and  the  look  of  fearless  and  noble  innocence  in  his 
deep  blue  eyes. 

It  was  no  time  for  moral  lectures  or  formal  advice.  Mr. 
Evson  spoke  to  Walter  chiefly  about  home,  about  writing 
letters,  about  his  pocket  money,  his  amusements,  and  his 
studies,  and  Walter  knew  well  beforehand,  without  any  re- 
petitions then,  what  his  father  wished  him  to  be,  and  the 
principles  iu  accordance  with  which  he  had  endeavored  tc 
mould  his  thoughts  and  actions. 

The  time  passed  too  quickly  for  thein  both  ;  they  were 
soou  at  the  top  of  the  hill  where  the  carriage  awaited  them. 


14  PARTING. 

"  Good-bye,  Walter.  God  bless  you,"  said  Mr.  Evson 
shaking  hands  for  the  last  time,  and  throwing  deep  mean- 
ing- into  those  simple  words. 

"  Good-bye,  papa.  My  best  love  to  all  at  home,"  said 
Walter,  trying  to  speak  cheerfully,  and  struggling  manfully 
to  repress  his  rising  tears. 

The  carriage  drove  on,  Walter  watched  it  out  of  sight, 
and,  turning  round,  felt  that  a  new  phase  of  his  life  had 
begun,  and  that  he  was  miserably  alone.  It  was  natural 
that  he  should  shed  a  few  quiet  tears  as  he  thought  of  the 
dear  friends  with  whom  he  had  parted,  and  the  four  hun- 
dred strangers  into  whose  society  he  was  about  to  enter. 
Yet,  being  brave  and  innocent,  he  feared  nothing,  and,  with- 
out any  very  definite  religious  consciousness,  he  had  a  clear 
and  vivid  sense  that  One  friend  was  ever  with  him. 

The  emotions  of  a  boy  are  as  transient  as  they  are  keen, 
and  Walter's  tears  were  soon  dried.  As  he  looked  round, 
the  old  familiar  voice  of  the  mountains  was  in  his  ears. 
He  gazed  with  the  delight  of  friendship  on  their  towering 
summits,  and  promised  himself  many  an  exhilarating  climb 
up  their  steep  sides.  And  now  too  for  the  first  time — for 
hitherto  he  had  not  much  noticed  the  scenery  around  him — 
a,  new  voice,  the  great  voice  of  the  sea,  broke  with  its  grand 
but  awful  monotony  upon  his  listening  ear.  As  he  gazed 
upon  the  waves,  glowing  and  flashing  with  the  golden  net- 
work of  autumnal  sunbeams,  it  seemed  to  dawn  upon  him 
Like  the  discovery  of  a  new  sense,  and  he  determined  to 
stroll  down  to  the  beach  before  re-entering  the  gates  of  St. 
Winifred. 

He  wandered  there  not  only  with  a  boy's  delight,  but 
with  the  delight  of  a  boy  whose  eyes  and  ears  have  always 
been  open  to  the  beauty  and  wonder  of  the  outer  world. 
He  longed  to  have  his  brother  with  him  there.  He  picked 
:ip  haudfuls  of  the  hard  and  sparkling  sand  ;  he  sent  the 


THE    SEA.  lfi 

Droad  flat  pebbles  flying  over  the  surface,  and  skimming 
through  the  crests  of  the  waves ;  he  half  filled  his  pockets 
with  green  and  yellow  shells,  and  crimson  fragments  of  De- 
lessaria  Sanguinea  for  his  little  sisters  ;  and  he  was  full  of 
pleasurable  excitement  when  the  great  clock  of  St.  Wini- 
fred's, striking  five,  reminded  him  that  he  had  better  go  in, 
and  learn  soniethiug,  if  possible,  about  the  order  of  his 
future  life. 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRD. 

NEW    BOYS. 

THE  Famulus — "familiar" — as  the  boys  called  hinr 
directed  Walter  across  the  court  to  the  rooms  of  his 
Housekeeper,  who  informed  him  about  the  places 
where  his  clothes  and  his  play-boxes  would  be  kept,  and 
the  dormitory  where  he  was  to  sleep.  She  also  gave  him 
a  key  of  the  desk  in  the  great  school-room,  in  which  he 
might,  if  he  chose,  keep  his  portable  property.  She  more- 
over announced,  with  some  significance,  that  she  should  be 
glad  to  do  anything  for  him  which  lay  in  her  humble 
power,  and  that  the  day  after  to-morrow  was  her  birthday. 
Walter  was  a  little  puzzled  as  to  the  relevancy  of  the 
latter  piece  of  information.  He  learnt  it  at  a  subsequent 
period,  when  he  also  discovered  that  Mrs.  Higgins  found 
it  to  her  interest  to  have  periodical  birthdays,  recurring 
two  or  three  times  at  least  every  half  year.  The  years 
which  must  have  passed  over  that  good  lady's  head  during 
Walter's  stay  at  St.  Winifred's — the  premature  rapidity 
with  which  old  age  must  have  subsequently  overtaken 
her,  and  the  vigor  which  she  displayed  at  so  advanced  a 
period  of  life — were  something  quite  extraordinary  of  their 
kind. 

Towards  the  great  school-room  Walter  accordingly  di- 
rected his  steps.  The  key  turned  out  to  be  quite  superflu- 
ous, for  the  hasp  of  the  lock  had  been  broken  by  Walter's 
predecessor,  who  had  also  left  the  trace  of  his  name,  his 
likeness,  and  many  interesting  though  inexplicable  designs 
and  hieroglyphics,  with  a  red-hot  poker,  on  the  lid.     Th« 


HKNDEKSON.  17 

same  gentleman,  to  judge  by  appearances,  must  have  had  a 
curious  entomological  collection  of  spiders  and  earwiga 
under  his  protection,  and  had  bequeathed  to  Walter  a 
highly  miscellaneous  legacy  of  rubbish.  Walter  contem- 
plated his  bequest  with  some  dismay,  and  began  busily  to 
dust  the  interior  of  the  desk,  and  make  it  as  fit  a  receptacle 
as  he  could  for  his  writing-materials  and  other  personal 
possessions. 

While  thus  engaged  he  could  not  help  being  secretly 
tickled  by  the  proceedings  of  a  group  of  boys  standing 
round  the  large  unlightcd  stove,  and  amusing  themselves, 
harmlessly  for  the  most  part,  with  the  inexperience  and 
idiosyncrasies  of  various  new  comers.  After  tiring  them- 
selves with  the  freaks  of  a  mad  Irish  boy  who  had  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  his  own  cross-examination  with  a  high 
sense  of  buffoonery  which  refused  to  grow  ill-tempered,  they 
were  now  playing  on  the  extreme  gullibility  of  a  heavy, 
open-mouthed,  bullet-headed  fellow,  named  Plumber,  from 
whom  the  most  astounding  information  could  extract  no 
greater  evidence  of  sensation  than  a  little  wider  stare  of 
the  eyes,  and  an  unexcited  drawl  of  "  Really  though  ?" 
One  of  the  group,  named  Henderson,  a  merry-looking  boy 
with  a  ceaseless  pleasant  twinkle  of  the  eyes,  had  been 
taxing  his  own  invention  to  the  uttermost  without  in  the 
least  exciting  Plumber's  credulity. 

"  You  saw  the  fellow  who  let  you  in  at  the  school  gates, 
Plumber  ?"  said  Henderson. 

"  Yes  ;  I  saw  some  one  or  other." 

"  But  did  you  notice  him  particularly  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  didn't  notice  him." 

"  Well,  you  should  have  done.  That  man's  called  '  the 
Familiar.'  Ask  any  one  if  he  isn't.  But  do  you  know 
vhy?" 


18  HOWARD    TRACY. 

"  No  ;"  said  Plumber. 

"  It's  because  he's  got  a  familiar  spirit  which  waits  OB 
him,"  said  Henderson,  mysteriously. 

"  Really  though,"  said  Plumber,  and  this  time  he  looked 
so  frightened  that  it  was  impossible  for  the  rest  to  avoid 
bursting  into  a  lit  of  laughter,  during  which  Plumber, 
vaguely  comprehending  that  he  was  considered  a  very  good 
joke,  retired  with  discomfiture. 

"You  fools,"  said  Henderson  ;  "  if  you'd  only  given  nit 
a  little  more  time  I'd  have  made  him  believe  that  Lane 
had  a  tail,  and  wore  his  gown  to  conceal  it,  except  when 
he  used  it  to  flog  with  ;  and  that  before  being  entered  he 
would  have  to  sing  a  song  standing  on  his  head." 

"  There's  another  new  fellow,"  said  Kenrick,  one  of  the 
group.  "  Come  here,  you  new  fellow,"  called  two  or  three 
of  them. 

Walter  looked  up,  thinking  that  h-e  was  addressed,  but 
found  that  the  summons  was  meant  for  a  boy,  rather  good- 
looking  but  very  slender,  whose  self-important  attitude  and 
supercilious  look  betrayed  no  slight  amount  of  vanity,  and 
who,  to  the  apparent  astonishment  of  the  rest,  was  survey- 
ing the  room  and  its  appurtenances  with  a  look  of  great 
affectation  and  disdain. 

"  So  you  don't  much  seem  to  Hke  the  look  of  St.  Wini- 
fred's," said  Kenrick  to  him,  as  the  boy  walked  up  with  a 
delicate  air. 

"  Not  much,"  lisped  the  new  boy ;  "  everything  looks  so 
very  common." 

"  Common  and  unclean  to  the  last  degree,"  said  Hender- 
son, imitating  his  manner. 

"  And  is  this  the  only  place  you  have  to  sit  in  ?" 

"  Oh,  by  no  means,"  said  Henderson  ;  "  each  of  us  haj 
i  private  apartment  furnished  in  crimson  and  gold,  accord 


HOWARD   TRACT.  19 

tug  to  the  simple  yet  elegant  taste  of  the  owner.  Onl 
meals  are  there  served  to  us  by  kneeling  domestics  on  little 
dishes  of  silver." 

"  I  suppose  you  intend  that  for  wit,"  said  the  r.evv  boy, 
languidly. 

"  Yes  ;  to  do  you,  to  wit,"  answered  Henderson  ;  "  but 
seriously  though,  that  would  be  a  great  deal  more  like 
what  you  have  been  accustomed  to  ;  wouldn't  it,  my 
fi  Send  ?" 

"  Very  much  more,"  said  the  boy. 

"  And  would  you  politely  favor  this  company,"  said 
Henderson,  with  obsequious  courtesy,  "  by  revealing  to  us 
your  name  ?'' 

"  My  name  is  Howard  Tracy." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !"  said  Henderson,  with  an  air  of  great 
satisfaction,  and  making  a  low  bow. 

"  I  am  called  Howard  Tracy  because  I  am  descended 
lineally  from  both  those  noble  families." 

"  My  goodness  !  are  you  really  !"  said  Henderson,  clasp- 
ing his  hand  in  mock  transport.  "  My  dear  sir,  you  are 
an  honor  to  your  race  and  country  !  you  are  an  honor  to 
this  school.  By  Jove,  we  are  proud,  sir,  to  have  you 
among  us  !" 

"  Perhaps  you  may  not  know  that  my  uncle  is  the  Vis- 
count St.  George,"  said  Tracy,  patronisingly. 

"  Is  he,  though,  by  George  !"  said  Henderson,  yawning 
"  Is  that  St.  George  who 

'  Swinged  the  dragon,  and  e'er  since 
Sits  on  his  horseback  at  mine  hostess'  door?'" 

But   finding  that  the  boy's  vanity  was  too  obtuse  to  b* 
amusing  any  longer,  he  was  about  to  leave  him  to  the  rest, 
when  Jones  caught  sight  of  Walter,  and  called  out  : 
"  Halloa,  here's  a  new  fellow  grinniug  at  the  lollies  of 


20  JONES. 

his  kind.  Conic  here,  you  dark-haired  chap.  What's 
your  name  ?" 

"  Evson,"  said  Walter,  quietly  approaching  them. 

Before  getting  any  fun  out  of  him  it  was  necessary  to  see 
what  kind  of  a  boy  he  was  ;  and  as  Jones  hardly  knew 
what  line  to  take,  he  began  on  the  commonest  and  most 
vulgar  tack  of  catechising  him  about  his  family  auc. 
relations. 

"  What's  your  father  ?" 

"  My  father  is  a  gentleman,"  said  Walter,  rather  sur- 
prised at  the  rudeness  of  the  question. 

"  And  where  do  you  live  ?" 

"  At  Semlyn." 

"  And  how  old  are  you  ?" 

"  Just  thirteen." 

"  And  how  many  sisters  have  you  ?" 

Walter  rather  thought  of  asking,  "  What's  that  to  you  ?" 
but  as  he  saw  no  particular  harm  in  answering  the  ques- 
tion, and  did  not  want  to  seem  too  stiff-backed,  he  answered 
— "  Three." 

''  And  are  they  very  beautiful  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  ;  I  never  asked  them.     Are  yours  ?" 

This  last  question  was  so  perfectly  quiet  and  unexpected, 
and  Jones  was  so  evidently  discomfited  by  it,  that  the  rest 
burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  and  Henderson  said,  "  You've 
caught  a  tartar,  Jones.  You  can't  drop  salt  on  this  bird's 
tail.  You  had  better  return  to  Plumber,  or  St.  George 
aud  the  dragon.  Here,  my  noble  Viscount,  what  do  you 
think  of  your  coeval  ?    Is  he  as  common  as  the  rest  of  us  V 

"  I  don't  think  anything  about  him,  if  you  mean  me  by 
Viscount,"  said  Tracy,  peevishly,  beginning  at  last  to  up. 
derstand  that  they  had  been  making  a  fool  of  him. 

"  Quite  right,  St.  George,  he's  beneath  your  notice." 

Tracy  ran  his  hand  through  his  scented  hair,  as  if  he 


A    8QUABBLE.  21 

^dier  implied  that  he  was ;  and  being  mortified  at  th< 
contrast  between  his  own  credulous  vanity  and  Walter's 
manly  simplicity,  and  anxious  if  possible  to  regain  his  posi- 
tion, he  said  angrily  to  Walter — "  What  are  you  looking 
at  me  for  ?" 

Not  wishing  to  bo  rude,  Walter  turned  away,  while 
some  one  observed,  "  A  cat  may  look  at  a  king." 

"  Ay,  a  cat  at  a  king,  I  grant  you,"  answered  Hender- 
son ;  "  but  not  a  mere  son  of  Eve  at  any  Howard  Tracy." 

"  You  are  laughing  at  me,"  said  Tracy  to  Walter  again, 
in  a  still  angrier  tone,  seeing  Walter  smile  at  Henderson's 
remark. 

I  have  not  the  slightest  wish  to  laugh  at  you,"  said 
Walter. 

"  Yes  he  has.  Shy  this  at  him,"  said  Jones,  putting  a 
great  bit  of  orange  peel  into  Tracy's  hand. 

Tracy  threw  it  at  Walter,  and  he  without  hesitation 
picked  it  up,  and  flung  it  back  in  Tracy's  face. 

"  A  fight  I  a  fight  !"  shouted  the  mischief-making  group, 
as  Tracy  made  a  blind  blow  at  Walter,  which  his  ant  ago- 
nist easily  parried. 

"  Make  him  fight  you.      Challenge  him,"  said  Jones. 
'  Invite  him  to  the  milling-ground  behind  the  chapel  after 
first  school  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Pistols  for  two,  coffee  for  four,  at  eight  to-morrow," 
eaid  Henderson.  "  Trample  on  the  Dragon's  tail,  some 
one,  and  rouse  him  to  the  occasion.  What  1  he  won't 
come  to  the  scratch  ?     Alack  !   alack  ! 

*  What  can  ennoble  fools  or  cowards? 
Not  all  the  blood  of  all  the  Tracys,  Dragons,  and  Howards!'" 

he  continued  mischievously,  as  he  saw  that  Tracy,  on  tak 
tog  note  of  Walter's  compact  figure,  showed  signs  of 
declining  the  combat 


22  KENRICK. 

"  Hush,  Henderson,"  said  Kenrick,  one  of  the  group  whc 
had  taken  no  part  in  the  talk  ;  "  it's  a  shame  to  be  setting 
two  new  fellows  fighting  their  first  evening." 

But  Henderson's  last  remark  had  been  too  much  for 
Tracy.  "  Will  you  fight  ?"  he  said,  walking  up  to  Walter 
with  reddening  cheeks.  For  Tracy  had  been  to  school  be- 
fore, and  was  no  novice  in  the  ways  of  boys. 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Walter  coolly,  to  everybody's  great 
surprise. 

"What!  the  other  chap  showing  the  white  feather  too 
All  the  new  fellows  are  cowards  it  seems  this  time,"  said 
Jones.     "This'll  never  do.     Pitch  into  him,  Tracy." 

"  Stop,"  said  Kenrick;  "let's  hear  first  why  he  won't 
fight?" 

"Because  I  see  no  occasion  to,"  said  Walter;  "and  be- 
cause in  the  second  place,  I  never  could  fight  in  cold  blood; 
and  because,  in  the  third  place  " — 

"  Well,  what  in  the  third  place,"  said  Kenrick,  interested 
to  observe  Walter's  hesitation. 

"In  the  third  place,"  said  Walter,  "I  don't  say  it  from 
conceit,  but  that  boy's  no  match  for  me." 

To  any  one  who  glanced  at  the  figures  of  the  two  boys 
this  was  obvious  enough,  although  Walter  was  a  year  tho 
younger  of  the  two.  The  rest  began  to  respect  Walter 
accordingly  as  a  sensible  little  man,  but  Tracy  was  greatly 
offended  by  the  last  remark,  and  Jones,  who  was  a  bully 
and  had  a  grudge  against  Walter  for  baffling  his  imperti- 
nence, exclaimed,  "  Don't  you  be  afraid  Tracy.  I'll  back 
you.     Give  him  something  to  heat  his  cold  blood." 

Fired  at  once  by  taunts  and  encouragements  Tracy  did 
as  he  was  bid,  and  struck  Walter  on  the  face.  The  boy 
started  angrily,  and  at  first  seemed  as  if  he  meant  to  returi; 
„he  blow  with  compound  interest,  but  suddenly  changing 
his  intention,  he  seized  Tracy  round  the  waist,  and  in  spite 


JONES    AND    WALTER.  23 

of  all  kicking  ami  struggling,  fairly  carried  the  humiliated 
descendant  of  the  Howards  and  Tracys  to  a  far  corner  of 
the  room,  where,  amid  a  shout  of  laughter,  he  deposited 
him  with  the  laconic  suggestion,  "  Don't  you  be  a  fool." 

Walter's  blood  was  now  up,  and  thinking  that  he  might 
as  well  show,  from  the  very  first,  that  he  was  not  to  be 
bullied,  or  made  a  butt  with  impunity,  he  walked  straight 
to  the  stove,  and  looking  full  at  Jones  (who  had  inspired 
him  already  with  strong  disgust),  he  said,  "You  called  me 
a  coward  just  now,  I'm  not  a  coward,  though  I  don't  like 
fighting  for  nothing.  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid  of  you,  though 
you  forced  that  fellow  to  hit  me  just  now." 

"Aren't  you?  Saucy  young  cub!  Then  take  that," 
said  Jones,  enforcing  the  remark  with  a  box  on  the 
ear. 

"  And  you  take  that,"  said  Walter,  returning  the  com- 
pliment with  as  much  energy  as  if  he  had  been  playing  at 
the  game  of  Gif  es  iveiler. 

Jones,  astonished  beyond  measure,  sprang  forward, 
clenched  his  two  fists,  squared,  and  blustered  with  great 
demoustrativeness.  He  was  much  Walter's  senior,  and 
was  utterly  taken  by  surprise  at  his  audacity,  but  he  seemed 
in  no  hurry  to  avenge  the  insult. 

"  Well,"  said  Walter,  heaving  with  indignation,  "  why 
don't  you  hit  me  again  ?" 

Jones  looked  at  his  firm  and  determined  little  assailant 
with  some  alarm,  slowly  tucked  up  the  sleeves  of  his  coat, 
turned  white  and  red,  and — didn't  return  the  blow.  The 
tea-bell  beginning  to  ring  at  that  moment  gave  him  a  con- 
venient excuse  for  breaking  off  the  altercation.  He  told 
his  friends  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  thrashing  Walter 
when  the  bell  rang,  but  that  he  thought  it  a  shame  to  fight 
e,  new  fellow; — "and  in  cold  blood  too,"  he  added,  adopt 
'ug  Walter's  language,  but  not  his  sincerity. 


24  KENKICK. 

11  Don't  call  me  a  coward  again  then/'  said  Walter  tc. 
him  as  he  turned  away. 

"I  say,  Evson,  you're  a  regulai  brick,  a  regular  stun- 
ner," said  young  Kenrick,  delighted,  as  he  showed  Walter 
the  way  to  the  Hall  where  the  boys  had  tea.  "  That  fellow 
Jones  is  no  end  of  a  bully,  and  he  won't  be  quite  so  big  in 
future.     You've  taken  him  down  a  great  many  pegs." 

"  I  say,  Kenrick,"  shouted  Henderson  after  them,  "  1  bet 
you  five  to  one  I  know  what  you're  saying  to  the  new  fel- 
low." 

"  I  bet  you  don't,"  said  Kenrick,  laughing. 

"  You're  saying — it's  a  quotation  you  know,  but  never 
mind — you're  saying  to  him, '  A  sudden  thought  strikes  me; 
let's  swear  an  eternal  friendship.' " 

"Then  you're  quite  out."  answered  Kenrick.  "I  was 
saying  come  and  sit  next  me  at  tea." 

"And  go  shares  in  jam,"  added  Henderson:  "exactfc 
what  I  said,  only  in  other  words." 


CHAPTER  THE   FOURTH. 

FRIENDS    AND    FOES. 

ALREADY  Walter  had  got  some  one  to  talk  to,  some 
one  lie  knew  ;  for  in  spite  of  Kcurick's  repudiation 
of  Henderson's  jest,  he  felt  already  that  he  had  dis- 
covered a  boy  with  whom  he  should  soon  be  friends.  It 
doesn't  matter  how  he  had  discovered  it;  it  was  by  animal 
magnetism;  it  was  by  some  look  in  Kenrick's  eyes;  it  was 
his  light-heartedness;  it  was  by  the  mingled  fire  and  refine- 
ment of  his  face  which  spoke  of  a  wilful  and  impetuous, 
yet  also  of  a  generous  and  noble  nature.  Already  he  felt 
a  sense  of  ease  and  pleasure  in  the  certainty  that  Kenrick — 
evidently  no  cypher  among  his  schoolfellows — was  inclined 
to  like  him,  and  to  show  him  the  ways  of  the  school. 

They  went  into  a  large  hall,  where  the  four  hundred  had 
their  meals.  They  sat  at  a  number  of  tables  arranged 
breadthwise  across  the  hall;  twenty  or  thirty  sat  at  each 
table,  and  either  a  master  or  a  monitor  (as  the  sixteen  up- 
per boys  were  called)  took  his  place  at  the  head  of  it. 

"  Now,  mind  you  don't  begin  to  smoke,"  said  Henderson, 
as  Walter  went  in,  and  found  most  of  the  boys  already 
seated. 

"  Smoke?"  said  Walter,  taking  it  for  a  bit  of  good  ad- 
vice ;  "  do  fellows  smoke  in  Hall  ?     I  never  have  smoked." 

"  Why,  you're  smoking  now,"  said  Henderson,  as  Walter, 
entering  among  the  crowd  of  strange  faces  and  meeting  so 
many  pairs  of  eyes,  began  to  blush  a  little. 

"  Don't  tease  him,  Flip"  said  Kenrick  ;  "  smoking  is  the 
name  fellows  give  to  blushing,  Evson  ;  and  if  they  see  you 

9.  25 


26  A    TRICK. 

given  to  blushing,  they'll  stare  at  you  for  the  fun  of  seeing 
the  color  mount  up  in  your  cheeks." 

Accordingly,  as  he  sat  down,  he  saw  that  numerous  eyes 
were  turned  upon  him  and  upon  Tracy,  who  happened  to 
Bit  at  the  same  table      Tracy,  unaccustomed  to  such  very 
narrow  scrutiny,  blushed  all  over;  and,  as  he  in  vain  looked 
up  and  down,  this  way  and  that,  his  cheeks  grew  hottei 
and  hotter,  and  he  moved  about  in  the  most  uneasy  way, 
to  the  great  amusement  of  his  many  tormentors,  until  at 
last  his  eyes  subsided  finally  into  his  teacup,  from  which 
he  did   not   again  venture  to  raise    them    until  tea  was 
over.     But  Walter  was  at  once  up  to  the  trick,  and  felt 
thoroughly  obliged  to  Henderson  and  Kenriek  for  telling 
him  of  it.    So  he  waited  till  he  saw  that  a  good  dozen  fellows 
yere  all  intently  staring  at  him;  and  then  looking  up  very 
simply  aud  naturally,  he  met  the  gaze  of  two  or  three  of 
them  steadily  in  succession,  and  stared  them  out  of  coun- 
tenance with  a  quiet  smile.     This  turned  the  laugh  against 
them;  and  he  heard  the  remark,  that  he  was  "  up  to  snuff, 
and  no  mistake."     No  one  ever  tried  to  make  Walter  smoke 
again. 

Kenriek  sat  by  Walter,  aud  took  him  more  or  less 
under  his  protection  ;  for  an  "  old  boy"  can  always  patro- 
nise a  new  comer  at  first,  even  if  they  are  of  the  same 
age. 

From  Kenriek  Walter  learnt,  rather  to  his  dismay,  that 
he  really  would  have  no  place  to  sit  in  except  the  big  school 
room,  which  he  would  share  with  some  fifty  others,  am/ 
that  he  would  be  placed  in  a  dormitory  with  at  least  five 
or  six  besides  himself. 

"  Have  you  been  examined  yet  ?"  asked  Kenriek. 
"No  ;  but  Di\  Lane  asked  me  what  books  I  had  read  ; 
and  he  told  me  that  I  was  to  go  and   take  my  chance  ir. 
Mr  Paton's  form.     What  form  is  that  ?" 


ME.    PATON.  27 

"  It's  what  we  call  the  Virgil  form.  Have  you  ever  read 
Virgil  ?" 

"  No ;  at  least  only  a  few  easy  bits." 

"  I  wish  you  joy,  then." 

"  Why;  what  sort  of  a  fellow  is  Mr.  Patou  ?" 

"  Mr.  Paton?  he's  not  a  man  at  all,  he's  a  machine; 
lie's  the  wheel  of  a  mill  ;  lie's  a  cast-iron  automaton : 
he"s" 

"The  abomination  of  desolation  spoken  of  by  Daniel  the 
prophet,"  observed  Henderson,  who  had  caught  a  fragment 
of  the  conversation  ;  "  I'm  in  his  form  too,  worse  luck!" 

"  Hush!  shut  up,  Henderson,  and  don't  be  profane,"  said 
Kenrick.  "  Well,  Evson,  you'll  soon  find  out  what  Pa  ton's 
like  ;  anything  but  '  a  patten  of  bright  gold'  at  any  rate." 

"  Oh!  oh!  turn  him  out  for  his  bad  pun,"  said  Hender- 
son, hitting  him  with  a  pellet  of  bread  ;  for  which  offence 
he  immediately  received  "fifty  lines"  from  the  master  at 
the  other  end  of  the  table. 

"Don't  abuse  Paton,"  said  a  boy  named  Daubeny,  which 
name  Henderson  had  long  ago  contracted  into  Dubbs;  "  I 
always  found  him  a  capital  master  to  be  under,  and  really 
very  kind." 

"Oh,  you  •  yes,"  answered  Kenrick,  "  if  we  were  all 
gifted  with  your  mouselike  stillness  in  school,  my  dear  old 
Dubbs," 

"  And  your  metallic  capacity  of  grind,  my  dear  old 
Dubbs,"  added  Henderson. 

"  And  your  ostrich-like  digestion  of  crabbed  rules,  my 
dear  old  Dubbs;  why,  then,"  said  Kenrick,  "  we  should  all 
be  boys  after  Paton's  heart." 

"  Or  Paton's  pattern,"  suggested  Henderson  ;  so  it  was 
now  Kenrick's  turn  to  shudder  at  a  miserable  attempt  at  a 
Dim,  and  return  Henderson's  missile,  whereupon  he  got  a 
hundred  lines,  which  made  him  pull  a  very  long  face. 


28  CONVERSATION. 

"  Who's  to  be  your  tutor,  Evson  ?"  he  asked  after  thia 
interlude. 

"  I  suppose  you're  going  to  pick  him  to  pieces,  now," 
said  Daubeny,  smiling ;  "  don't  you  believe  half  they  say 
of  him,  Evson." 

"  Oh,  if  you're  sharp,  and  successful,  and  polite,  and 
gentlemanly,  and  jolly,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  he'll  like 
you  very  much,  and  be  exceedingly  kind  to  you  ;  but  if 
you  are  lazy,  or  mischievous,  or  stupid,  or  at  all  a  pickle, 
he'll  ignore  you,  snub  you,  won't  speak  to  you.  I  wish 
you'd  been  in  the  same  pupil-room  with  me." 

"  Depends  on  who  he  is,  O  virtuous  Dubbs,"  said  Hen- 
derson ;  "  his  end  shall  be  '  pieces,'  as  Punch  says,  if  he 
deserves  it." 

"  He  told  me  I  was  to  be  Mr.  Robertson's  pupil,"  said 
Walter. 

"  Hum-m  !"  observed  Kenrick. 

"  Why,  what  sort  of  a  person  is  he  ?" 

"  Some  of  his  pups  detest  him,  others  adore  him." 

«  Why  ?" 

"  Who's  your  tutor,  then  ?" 

"  Percival ;  there,  the  master  who  is  chatting  and  laugh- 
ing with  those  monitors.  He's  a  regular  brick,"  said  Ken- 
rick.    "  Halloa  !  tea's  over." 

"  And  you've  been  chattering  so  much  that  the  new  fel- 
low's had  none,"  said  Henderson,  as  a  bell  rang  and  one 
of  the  monitors  read  a  short  Latin  grace. 

The  boys  streamed  out,  and  Kenrick  helped  his  new 
friend  to  unpack  his  books  and  other  treasures,  and  put 
them  in  his  desk,  for  which  they  ordered  a  new  lock.  The 
rest  of  the  evening  was  occupied  with  "  Evening  Work,"  a 
time  during  which  all  the  boys  below  a  certain  form  sate  in 
the  schoolroom,  and  prepared  their  lessons  for  the  next  day, 
while  a  master  occupied  the  desk  to  superintend  and  keep 


DREAMS.  29 

order.     As  other  boys  who  were  in  the  same  form  with 
h'.mself  were  doing  no  work,  Walter  did  not  suppose  that 
any  work  would  be  expected  of  him  the  next  morning,  and 
he  therefore  occupied  his  time  in  writing  a  long  letter  home 
When  this  was  over  he  began  talking  to  Henderson,  of 
whom  he  had  a  thousand  questions  to  ask,  and  whose  chief 
amusement  seemed  to  consist  in  chaffing  everybody,  and 
whom,  nevertheless,  everybody  seemed  to  regard  as  a  friend. 
At  nine  a  bell  rang,  the  whole  school  went  to  chapel,  where 
a  short  evening  service  was  held,  and  then  all  but  the  high- 
er forms,  and  the  boys  who  had  separate  rooms,  went  to 
bed.     As  Walter  lay  down  to  sleep,  he  felt  at  least  a  cen- 
tury older  than  he  had  done  that  morning.     Everything 
was  marvellously  new  to  him,  but  on  the  whole  he  was 
Inclined  to  take   a  bright  view  of  things.     Two  of  the 
things  which  had  happened  to  him  gave  him  special  delight; 
the  sight  of  the  sea,  and  the  happy  dawn — for  as  such  he 
regarded  it — of  a  genuine  hearty  boyish  friendship,  both 
with  Henderson  and  Kenrick.     When  the  gas  was  turned 
off,  tired  out  with  his  journey  aud  his  excitement,  he  quickly 
fell  asleep. 

And,  falling  asleep,  he  at  once  passed  into  the  land  of 
dreams.  He  was  out  on  the  sea  with  Kenriek  and  Hen- 
derson in  a  row-boat,  and  all  three  of  them  were  fishing 
First  there  was  a  pull  at  Henderson's  line,  and,  tugging  it 
up,  he  caught,  not  a  fish,  but  Jones,  who,  after  a  few  flound- 
erings,  lay  down  in  the  fish-basket.  As  this  did  not  in  the 
least  surprise  any  of  them,  and  excited  no  remark  whatever, 
they  set  to  work  again,  and  Kenrick  had  a  bite  this  time, 
which  proved  to  be  Howard  Tracy,  whom  they  laid  quietly 
in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  Jones  assisting.  The  third  time 
Walter  himself  had  a  tug,  and  was  in  the  act  of  hauling 
op  Dubbs,  when  he  became  conscious  that  the  boat  was 
rocking  very  violently,  aud  he  felt  rather  surprised  that  he 


30  SELF-DEFENCE. 

was  uot  sea-sick.  This  seemed  to  give  a  new  current  to  his 
thoughts,  for  all  of  a  sudden  he  was  out  riding  with  some 
one,  and  his  horse  began  to  rear  in  the  most  uncomfortable 
manner,  right  on  his  hind  legs.  He  kept  his  seat  manfully, 
but  no!  that  last  rear  was  too  much,  and,  suddenly  waking, 
he  was  at  once  aware  that  his  bed  was  rising  and  falling  in 
a  series  of  heavy  shakes  and  bumps,  whereby  he  was  nearly 
flung  off  the  mattress.  He  instantly  guessed  the  cause,  for, 
indeed,  Kenrick  had  given  him  a  hint  of  such  a  possibility. 
He  knew  that  some  one,  wishing  to  frighten  him,  had  got 
under  the  bed,  and  was  heaving  it  up  and  down  with  his 
back.  All  that  he  had  noticed  when  he  undressed,  was 
that  there  were  several  big  fellows  in  the  dormitory,  and  he 
knew  that  the  room  had  rather  a  bad  reputation  for  disor- 
der and  bullying. 

Being  a  strong  little  fellow,  brave  as  a  lion,  and  very 
active,  Walter  was  afraid  of  no  one,  so  springing  up  during 
a  momentary  cessation  of  the  mysterious  upheavals,  he  in- 
stantly made  a  dash  under  the  bed,  and  seized  some  one  by 
the  leg.  The  leg  kicked  violently,  and  as  a  leg  is  a  particu- 
larly strong  limb,  it  succeeded  in  disengaging  itself  from  Wal- 
ter's hands,  not, however,  till  it  had  left  a  slipper  as  a  trophy; 
and  with  this  slipper  Walter  pursued  a  dim  white  figure, 
which  he  could  just  see  scuttling  away  through  the  dark 
uess  to  the  other  side  of  the  room.  This  figure  he  overtook 
just  in  time  to  give  it  some  resounding  smacks  with  the 
sole  of  the  slipper;  when  the  figure  clutched  a  counterpane 
off  the  nearest  bed,  Aug  it  over  Walter,  and  made  good  an 
escape,  while  Walter  was  entangled  in  the  voluminous  folds 
Walter,  however,  still  kept  possession  of  the  slipper,  and 
was  determined  next  morning  to  discover  the  owner.  He 
knew  that  it  was  probably  some  bigger  fellow,  who  had 
been  playing  this  game,  and  his  common  sense  told  him  that 
it  was  best  to  take  it  good-humored ly  as  a  joke,  and  yet  at 


ARTHUR    EDKN.  31 

the  same  time  to  make  it  as  little  pleasant  as  possible  for 
the  perpetrator,  even  if  he  got  thrashed  himself. 

Walter  cared  very  little  for  this  adventure.  It  certainly 
annoyed  him  a  little,  and  it  showed  him  that  some  of  the 
others  in  his  dormitory  must  be  more  or  less  brutes,  if  they 
could  find  it  amusing  to  break  the  sleep  and  play  on  the 
fears  of  a  new  boy  the  very  night  of  his  arrival  among 
them.  But  he  thought  no  more  about  it,  and  was  quite 
determined  that  it  should  not  happen  often. 

Far  different  was  the  case  with  poor  little  Arthur  Eden, 
another  new  boy — who,  as  Walter  had  observed,  occupied 
the  bed  next  to  him.  He  had  been  roused  from  his  first 
sweet  sleep  in  the  same  way,  about  the  same  time  as 
Walter.  But  no  one  had  prepared  him  for  this  annoy- 
ance, and  as  he  was  a  very  timid  child,  it  filled  him  with 
terror  ;  he  was  even  so  terrified  that  he  did  not  know 
what  it  was.  He  lay  quite  still,  not  daring  to  speak,  or 
make  a  sound,  only  clinging  to  his  mattress  with  both 
hands,  in  an  agony  of  dread.  He  was  already  worn  and 
bewildered  with  the  events  of  the  day.  At  the  very  mo- 
ment of  his  arrival  he  had  got  into  the  hands  of  boys  who 
made  sport  of  his  weakness,  corrupted  his  feelings,  and 
lacerated  his  heart.  He  was  very  young — a  mere  child 
of  twelve — and  iu  the  innocence  of  his  simplicity  he  had 
unreservedly  answered  all  their  questions,  and  prattled  to 
them  about  his  home,  about  his  twin  sister,  about  nearly 
all  his  cherished  secrets  In  that  short  space  of  time  he 
had  afforded  materials  enough  for  the  coarse  jeers  of  the 
brutal,  and  the  poignant  ridicule  of  the  cruel,  for  many  a 
long  day.  Something  of  this  derision  had  begun  already, 
and  he  had  found  no  secret  place  to  hide  his  tears.  That 
they  would  call  him  a  milksop,  a  molly  coddle,  and  all 
kinds  of  horrid  names  he  knew,  and  he  had  tried  manfully 
to  bear  up  under  persecution.     It  was  not  until  after  many 


32  A   TIMID   CHILD. 

hot  and  silent  drops  bad  relieved  the  fever  of  his  over- 
wrought brain,  that  sleep  had  come  to  him  ;  and  now  it 
was  broken  thus. 

The  big,  clumsy,  ne'er-do-well  of  a  boy,  Cradock  by 
name,  who  was  choking  with  secret  laughter  as  he  tilted 
little  Eden's  bed — leaving  a  pause  of  frightful  suspense  now 
and  then  to  let  him  recover  breath  and  realise  his  situation 
— was  as  raw  and  ill-trained  a  fellow  as  you  like,  but  ho 
had  nothing  in  him  wilfully  or  diabolically  wicked.  If  he 
had  been  similarly  treated,  he  would  have  broken  into  a 
great  guffaw,  and  emptied  his  water-jug  over  the  intruder  ; 
and  yet  if  he  could  have  seen  the  new  boy  at  that  moment, 
he  would  have  seen  that  pretty  little  face — only  meant  as 
yet  for  the  smiles  of  childhood — white  with  an  almost 
idiotic  terror,  and  he  would  have  caught  a  staring  and 
meaningless  look  in  the  glassy  eyes,  which  were  naturally  so 
bright  and  blue.  But  he  really  did  not  know  the  mischief 
he  was  doing,  and  the  absolute  horrible  torment  that  his 
jest  (?)  was  inflicting. 

Finding  that  his  joltings  produced  no  apparent  effect, 
and  thinking  that  Eden  might,  by  some  strange  somno- 
lence peculiar  to  new  boys,  sleep  through  it  all,  he  tilted 
the  bed  a  little  too  high,  and  then  indeed  a  wild  shriek 
rang  through  the  room  as  the  mattress  and  clothes  tum- 
bled right  over  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  flung  the  child 
violently  on  the  floor.  Fortunately,  the  heap  of  bed-clothes 
prevented  him  from  being  much  hurt,  and  Cradock  had 
just  time  to  pick  him  up  and  huddle  him  into  bed  again, 
and  jump  back  into  his  own  bed,  when  the  lamp  of  one  of 
the  masters,  who  had  been  attracted  by  Eden's  cry, 
appeared  through  the  door.  The  master,  finding  all  quiet, 
and  having  wine  from  a  distant  room,  supposed  that  his 
ears  had  deceived  him,  or  that  the  cry  was  some  accidental 
pnise  outside  the  building.     He  merely  walked  round  the 


FKANKLIN.  '66 

room,  and  seeing  Eden's  bed-clothes  rather  tumbled,  kindly 
helped  the  trembling  child  to  replace  them  in  a  more  com- 
fortable order,  and  left  the  room. 

"  I  say,  that's  quite  enough  for  one  night,"  said  the  voico 
of  one  of  the  boys,  when  the  master  had  disappeared 
"  You  new  fellows  can  go  to  sleep.  Nobody'll  touch  you 
again  to-night."  The  speaker  was  Franklin,  rather  a 
scapegrace  in  some  respects,  but  a  boy  of  no  unkindly 
nature. 

The  lie-lit  and  the  noise  had  revealed  to  Walter  some- 
thing  of  what  must  have  taken  place.  In  his  own  case,  he 
cared  very  little  for  the  assurance  that  he  would  not  be 
molested  again  that  night,  feeling  quite  sure  that  he  could 
hold  his  own  against  any  one,  and  that  his  former  enemy 
at  any  rate  would  not  be  likely  to  assault  him  again.  But 
he  was  very,  very  glad  for  poor  little  Eden's  sake,  having 
caught  a  momentary  glimpse  of  his  scared  and  pitiable 
look. 

Walter  could  not  sleep  for  a  long  time  ;  not  till  long 
after  he  heard  from  the  regular  breathings  of  the  others 
that  they  were  all  in  deep  slumber.  For  there  were  sounds 
which  came  from  Eden's  bed  which  disturbed  his  heart 
with  pity.  His  feelings  bled  for  the  poor  little  fellow,  so 
young  and  fresh  from  home,  a  new  comer  like  himself,  but 
evidently  so  little  accustomed  to  this  roughness  and  so  little 
aide  to  protect  his  own  interests.  For  a  long  time  into  the 
night  he  heard  the  poor  child  crying  and  sobbing  to  him- 
self though  he  was  clearly  trying  to  stifle  the  sound.  At 
last  Walter  could  stand  it  no  longer,  aud  feeling  sure  that 
the  rest  were  sound  asleep,  he  whispered  in  his  kindest  tone, 
for  he  didn't  know  his  neighbor's  name  : 

"  I  say,  you  little  new  fellow." 

The  sound  of  sobbing  was  hushed  for  a  moment,  but  the 
boy  seemed  afraid  to  answer  ;  so  Walter  said  again  : 

2* 


34c  SYMPATHY. 

"Are  you  awake  ?" 

"  Yes  ;"  said  a  weak,  childish  voice. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  ;  I'm  a  new  fellow,  too.  Tell  me 
your  name." 

"  Eden,"  he  whispered,  tremulously,  though  reassured  by 
the  kindly  tone  of  voice.  "  Hush  !  hush  !  you'll  awake 
some  one  " 

"  No,  I  won't,"  said  Walter  ;  "  here,  I'll  come  and 
speak  to  you."  And  stepping  noiselessly  out  of  bed,  he 
whispered  in  Eden's  ear,  "  Never  mind,  my  poor  little  fel- 
low ;  don't  be  frightened,  the  boy  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you; 
he  was  only  shoving  your  bed  up  and  down  for  a  joke. 
Some  one  did  the  same  to  me,  so  I  jumped  up  and  licked 
him  with  a  slipper." 

"  But  I  got  so  frightened.  Oh,  do  you  think  they'll  do 
it  again  to-night  ?" 

"  No,  certainly,  not  again  to-night,"  said  Walter, 
"  they're  all  asleep  ;  and  if  any  one  does  it  again  another 
night,  you  must  just  slip  out  of  bed  and  not  mind  it.  It 
doesn't  hurt." 

"  Thank  you,"  whispered  Eden  ;  you're  very  kind,  and 
nobody  else  has  been  kind  to  me  here.  Will  you  tell  me 
your  name  ?" 

"  My  name's  Walter  Evson.  Do  you  know  your  voice 
and  look  remind  me  of  my  little  brother.  There,"  he  said 
tucking  him  up  in  bed,  "  now  good  night,  and  go  to 
sleep." 

The  little  fellow  pressed  Walter's  hand  hard,  said  good 
night,  and  soon  forgot  his  misery  in  a  sleep  of  pure  weari- 
ness. Walter  heard  him  breathing  peacefully,  and  then  he 
too  fell  asleep,  and  neither  woke  nor  dreamt  (that  he  was 
aware  of),  until  half-past  seven  the  next  morning,  when  a 
servant  roused  the  bovs  by  ringing  a  large  hand-bell  in 
their  ears. 


CHAPTER   THE   FIFTH. 

SCHOOL   TROUBLES. 

ITT  ALTER  jumped  up  and  began  to  dress  at  once  5 

1/1/     Eden,  still  looking  pale  and  frightened,  soon  fol- 

'  1      lowed  his  example,  and  recognised  him  with  a  smile 

of  gratitude.     None  of  the  other  five  boys  who  occupied 

the  room  thought  of  stirring  until  the  chapel  bell  began  to 

ring,  which  left  them  the  ample  space  of  a  quarter  of  au 

hour  for  their  orisons,  ablutions,  and  all  other  necessary 

preparations. 

Walter,  who  was  now  half-dressed,  glanced  at  them  aa 

they  got  up,  to  discover  the  owner  of  the  slipper,  which 

he  still  kept  in  his  possession.     First  Jones  tumbled  out  of 

bed,  not  even  deigning  a  surly  recognition,  but  Jones  had 

his  right  complement  of  slippers.     Then  two  other  fellows, 

named  Anthony  and  Franklin,  not  quite  so  big  as  Jones  ; 

their  slippers  were  all  right.     Then  Cradock,  who  looked 

a  little  shyly  at  Eden,  and,  after  a  while,  told  him  that  he 

was  only  playing  a  joke  the  night  before,  and  was  sorry 

for  having  frightened  him  ;  and  last,  Harpour,  the  biggest 

of  the  lot.     Harpour  was  one  of  those  fellows  who  are  to 

be  found  in  every  school,  and  who  are  always  dangerous 

characters  :  a  huge  boy,  very  low  down  in  the  forms,  very 

strong,  very  stupid  in  work,  rather  good-looking,  generally 

cut  by  the  better  sort,  unredeemed  by  any  natural  taste  or 

accomplishment,  wholly  without   influence   except   among 

little  boys  (whom  he  alternately  bullied  and  spoilt),  <ind 

only  kept  at   school  by  his   friends,   because   they  were 

■a 


8fi  HARPOUR. 

rather  afraid  of  him,  and  did  not  quite  know  what  to  do 
with  him. 

By  the  exhaustive  process  of  reasoning,  Walter  had 
already  concluded  that  Harpour  must  have  been  his  noc- 
turnal disturber  ;  and,  accordingly,  after  thrusting  a  foot 
into  a  slipper,  Harpour  began  to  exclaim,  "  Hallo  !  where'a 
my  other  slipper  ?  Confound  it,  I  shall  be  late  ;  I  can't 
dress  ;  where's  my  other  slipper  ?" 

Wishing  to  leave  him  without  escape  from  the  necessity 
of  betraying  himself  to  have  been  the  author  of  last  night's 
raid,  Walter  made  no  sign,  until  Harpour,  who  had  not  any 
time  to  lose,  said  to  him — 

"  Hi  !  you  new  chap,  have  you  got  my  slipper  ?" 

"  I've  got  a  slipper,"  said  Walter,  blandly. 

"  The  deuce  you  have.     Then  give  it  here,  this  minute." 

"  I  captured  it  off  some  one's  leg,  who  was  under  my 
bed  last  night,"  said  Walter,  giving  it  into  Harpour'a 
hand. 

"  The  deuce  you  did  1" 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  smacked  the  fellow  with  it,  as  I  will  do 
again,  if  he  comes  again." 

"  The  deuce  you  will  !  Then  take  that  for  your  impu- 
dence," said  Harpour,  intending  to  bring  down  the  slipper 
ou  his  shoulder  ;  but  Walter  dodged  down,  and  parrying 
the  blow  with  his  arm,  sent  the  slipper  in  a  graceful  para- 
bola across  the  washhand-stand  into  Jones'  basin. 

"  So,  so,"  said  Harpour,  "  you're  a  pretty  cool  hand,  you 
are.  Well,  I've  no  time  to  settle  accounts  with  you  now, 
or  I  should  be  late  for  chapel.     But," 

A  significant  pantomime  explained  the  remainder  of  the 
sentence,  and  then  Harpour,  standing  in  his  one  slipper, 
hastily  adjourned  to  his  toilet.  Walter  being  dressed  iu 
good  time,  knelt  down  for  a  few  moments  of  hearty  prayer, 
helped  poor  Eden,  who  was  as  helpless  as  though  he  had 


COMING    INTO    CHAPEL.  81 

been  always  dressed  by  a  servant,  to  finish  dressing,  and 
ran  across  the  court  into  the  chapel  just  as  the  bell  stopped. 
There  were  still  two  minutes  before  the  door  was  shut,  and 
he  occupied  them  by  watching  the  boys  as  they  streamed 
in,  many  of  them  with  their  waistcoats  only  half  bnttoned, 
and  others  with  the  water  drops  still  dangling  from  their 
hastily  combed  hair.  He  saw  Tracy  saunter  in  very  neat, 
but  with  a  languid  air  of  disapprobation,  blushing  withal 
as  he  entered  ;  Eden,  whose  large  eyes  looked  bewildered 
until  he  caught  sight  of  Walter  and  sat  down  beside  him  ; 
Kenrick,  beaming  as  ever,  who  nodded  to  him  as  he  passed 
by  ;  Henderson,  who,  notwithstanding  the  time  and  place, 
found  opportunity  to  whisper  to  him  a  hope  that  he  had 
washed  his  desirable  person  in  clear  water  ;  Plumber  look- 
ing as  if  his  credulity  had  Ween  gorged  beyond  endurance  ; 
Daubeny  with  eyes  immovably  fixed  in  the  determination 
to  know  his  lessons  that  day  :  and  lastly,  Harpour,  who 
had  just  time  to  scuffle  in  hot,  breathless,  and  exceedingly 
untidy,  as  the  chaplain  began  the  opening  sentence. 

"  Where  am  I  to  go  now  ?"  asked  Eden,  when  chapel 
was  over. 

"Well,  Eden,  I  know  as  little  as  you.  You'd  better 
ask  your  tutor.  Here,  Kenrick,"  said  Walter,  "  which  of 
those  black  gowns  is  Mr.  Robertson  ?  this  fellow's  tutor 
and  mine." 

Kenrick  pointed  out  one  of  the  masters,  to  whom  Eden 
went  ;  and  then  Walter  asked.  "  Where  am  I  to  go  to 
Mr.  Paton's  form  ?" 

"  Here,  let  me  lead  the  victim  to  the  sacrifice,"  said 
Henderson  ;  "  Oh  for  a  wreath  of  cypress  or  funeral  yew 
or" 


"  Nettles  ?"  suggested  Kenrick. 

"Observe,  new  boy,"   said  Henderson,   "your  eternal 
friend's  delicate  insinuation  that  you  are  a  donkey.     Here, 


88  IN    THE   PRESENCE. 

come  with  me  and  I'll  take  you  to  lie  -atted  on.w  Hei> 
derson's  exuberant  spirits  prevented  his  ever  speaking  with- 
out giving  vent  to  slang,  bad  puns,  or  sheer  good-humored 
nonsense. 

"  Aren't  you  in  that  form,  Kenrick,"  asked  Walter,  as 
he  saw  him  diverging  to  the  right. 

"  Oh,  no  !  dear  me,  no  ?"  said  Henderson  ;  "7  am,  but 
the  eternal  friend  is  at  least  two  forms  higher  ;  he,  let  me 
tell  you,  is  a  star  of  no  ordinary  magnitude  ;  he's  in  the 
Thicksides" — meaning  the  Thucydides'  class.  "You'll 
require  no  end  of  sky-climbing  before  you  reach  his  alti- 
tude. And  now,  victim,  behold  your  sacrificial  priest,"  he 
said,  placing  Walter  at  the  end  of  a  table  among  some 
thirty  boys  who  were  seated  in  front  of  a  master's  desk  in 
the  large  schoolroom,  in  various  parts  of  which  other  forms 
were  also  beginning  work  under  similar  superintendence. 
When  all  the  forms  were  saying  lessons  at  the  same  time  it 
may  be  imagined  that  the  room  was  not  very  still,  and  that 
a  master  required  good  lungs  who  had  to  teach  and  talk 
there  for  hours. 

Not  that  Mr.  Paton's  form  contributed  very  much  to 
the  quota  of  general  noise.  Although  Henderson  had 
chaffed  Daubeny  on  his  virtuous  stillness,  yet  all  the  boys 
sat  very  nearly  as  quiet  as  Dubbs  himself  during  school 
hours.  Even  Henderson  and  such  mercurial  spirits  were 
awed  into  silence  and  sobriety.  You  would  hardly  have 
known  that  in  that  quarter  of  the  room  there  was  a  form 
at  all.  Quicksilver  itself  would  have  lost  its  volatility  under 
Mr.  Paton's  manipulation. 

It  was  hard  at  first  sight  to  say  why  this  was.  Certainly 
Mr.  Paton  set  many  punishments,  but  so  did  other  masters 
who  had  not  half  his  success.  The  secret  was,  that  Mr, 
Paton  was  something  of  a  routinier,  and  that  was  the 
word,  which,  if  he  had  known  it,  Kenrick  would  have  used 


MR.    P4T0N.  39 

to  describe  him.  If  he  set  an  imposition,  the  imposition 
must  be  done,  and  must  be  done  at  a  certain  time,  without 
appeal.  Mr.  Paton  was  as  deaf  as  Pluto  to  all  excuses, 
and  as  inexorable  as  Rhadamanthus  in  his  retributive  (lis 
pensations.  As  for  remitting  a  lesson,  Mr.  Paton  would 
not  have  done  it  if  St.  Cecilia  had  offered  him  the  whole 
wreath  of  red  and  white  roses  which  the  admiring  angcla 
twined  in  her  golden  hair. 

Mr.  Paton's  rule  was  not  the  leaden  *  rule  of  Lesbos ; 
it  could  not  be  bent  to  suit  the  diversities  of  individual 
character,  but  was  a  rule  iron  and  inflexible,  which  applied 
equally  to  all.  His  measure  was  that  of  Procrustes  ;  the 
cleverest  boys  could  not  stretch  themselves  beyond  it,  the 
dullest  were  mechanically  pulled  into  its  dimensions.  Hence 
some  fared  hardly  under  it ;  yet,  let  me  hasten  to  say  that, 
on  the  whole,  with  the  great  number  of  average  boys,  it 
was  a  success.  The  discipline  which  he  established  was 
perfect,  and  though  many  boys  winced  under  it  at  the  time, 
it  was  valuable  to  all  of  them,  especially  to  those  of  an 
idle  or  sluggish  tendency. 

After  a  time  the  form  went  up  to  eay  a  lesson.  Each 
boy  was  put  on  in  turn.  When  it  came  to  Walter's  turn  Mr. 
Paton  first  inquired  his  name,  which  he  entered  with  ex- 
treme neatness  in  his  class-book — a  book  in  which  there 
was  not  a  single  blot  from  the  first  page  to  the  last.  He 
then  put  him  on  as  he  had  put  on  the  rest. 

"  I  had  no  book,  sir,  and  didn't  know  what  the  lesson 
was,"  said  Walter. 

"  Excuses,  sir,  excuses  1"  said  Mr.  Paton  sternly;  "you 
mean  that  you  haven't  learnt  the  lesson." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"A   bad  beginning,  Evson;   bring  me   no   excuses   in 
future.     You  must  write  the  lesson  out."     And  an  omin- 
*  Arist.  Nic.  Eth  ,  v.  14. 


40  LAMENT    FOB    BLISSIDAS. 

ous  entry  implying  this  fact  was  written  by  Walter's  freshly 
entered  name. 

On  this  occasion  Henderson  was  also  turned,  and  with 
him  a  boy  named  Bliss.  It  was  quite  impossible  for  Hen- 
derson to  be  UDemployed  on  some  nonsense,  and  heedless  of 
the  fact  that  he  was  himself  Bliss's  companion  in  misfortune, 
he  opened  a  poetry-book,  and  taking  Lycidas  as  his  model, 
sate  unusually  still,  while  he  occupied  himself  in  composing 
a  "  Lament  for  Blissidas,"  beginning  pathetically — 

"  Poor  Blissidas  is  turned  ;  turned  ere  hia  prime 
Young  Blissidas,  and  hath  not  left  his  peer; 
Who  would  not  weep  for  Blissidas  ?     He  knew 
Himself  to  say  his  Rep — but  give  him  time — 
He  must  not  quaff  his  glass  of  watery  beer 
[Tnchaffed,  or  write,  his  paper  ruled  and  lined. 
Without  the  meed  of  some  melodious  jeer/' 

"  I'll  lick  you,  Flip,  after  school,"  said  the  wrathful 
Bliss,  shaking  his  fist,  as  Henderson  began  to  whisper  to 
him  this  monody. 

"  Why  do  they  call  you  Flip  ?"  asked  Walter,  laughing. 

"  Short  for  Flibbertygibbet,"  said  Bliss. 

"Bliss,  Henderson,  and  Erson,  do  me  two  hundred  lines 
each,"  said  Mr.  Paton  ;  and  so  on  this,  his  first  morning 
in  school,  a  second  punishment  was  entered  against  Wal- 
ter's name. 

"  Whew-w-w  .  .  .  abomination  of  .  .  .  spoken  of  by  .  . 
hush  !"  was  Henderson's  whispered  comment.  "  I  call 
that  hard  lines."  But  he  continued  his  "  Lament  for  Blis- 
sidas," notwithstanding,  introducing  St.  Winified  and  othei 
mourners  over  Bliss's  fate,  and  ending  with  the  adinocitiou 
that  in  writins;  the  lines  he  was — 


ao 


To  touch  the  tender  tops  of  various  quills, 
And  mind  and  dot  his  quaint  enamelled  i's." 


A    SYSTKM.  41 

When  Walter  asked  his  tutor  for  the  .aper  on  which 
to  write  his  punishment,  Mr.  Robertson  said  to  him,  "  Al- 
ready, Evson  1"  in  a  tone  of  displeasure,  and  with  a  sar- 
casm hardly  inferior  to  that  of  Talleyrand's  celebrated 
"  Deja."  "  Two  hundred  lines  and  a  lesson  to  write  out 
already  .'" 

The  days  that  began  for  Walter  from  this  time  were 
days  of  darkness  and  disappointment.  He  was  not  defi- 
cient in  natural  ability,  but  he  had  undergone  no  special 
training  for  St.  Winifred's  school,  and  consequently  many 
things  were  new  to  him  in  which  other  boys  had  been  pre- 
viously trained.  The  practice  of  learning  grammar  by 
means  of  Latin  rules  was  particularly  trying  to  him.  He 
could  have  easily  mastered  the  facts  which  the  rules  were 
intended  to  impress,  but  the  empirical  process  suggested  for 
arriving  at  the  facts  he  could  not  remember,  even  if  he 
could  have  construed  the  crabbed  Latin  in  which  it  was 
conveyed.  His  father,  too,  had  never  greatly  cultivated 
his  powers  of  memory,  and  hence  he  felt  serious  difficulty 
at  first  with  the  long  lessons  that  had  to  be  learned  by 
heart. 

Mr.  Patou's  system  was  simply  this.  If  a  boy  failed  in 
a  lesson  from  any  cause  whatever,  he  had  to  write  it  out  ; 
if  he  failed  to  bring  it  written  out,  he  had  to  write  it 
twice  ;  if  lie  was  turned  in  a  second  lesson  he  was  kept  in 
during  play  hours  ;  if  this  process  was  long  continued  he 
was  sent  to  the  head-master  in  disgrace,  and  ran  the  chance 
of  being  flogged  as  an  incorrigible  idler.  Mr.  Paton  made 
no  allowance  for  difference  of  ability,  or  for  idiosyncraciea 
of  temperament. 

Now,  the  way  the  system  worked  on  Walter  was  this  . 
He  failed  in  lessons  because  they  were  so  new  to  him  that 
he  found  it  impossible  to  master  them.  He  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  work  in  such  a  crowded  and  noisy  place  as  the 


42  HOW    IT   WOKKED. 

great  schoolroom,  and  the  early  hour  for  going  to  bed  left 
little  time  for  evening  work.  Accordingly  he  often  failed; 
and  whenever  he  did,  the  impositions  or  detentions,  or  both, 
took  away  from  his  available  time  for  mastering  his  diffi- 
culties, and  as  this  necessitated  fresh  failures,  every  single 
punishment  became  frightfully  accumulative,  and,  alas  1  be- 
fore three  weeks  were  over,  Walter  was  "  sent  up  for  bad" 
to  the  head-master.  By  this  he  felt  degraded  and  dis- 
couraged to  the  last  degree.  Moreover,  harm  was  done  to 
him  in  many  other  ways.  Conscious  that  all  this  disgrace 
had  come  upon  him  without  any  serious  fault  of  his  own, 
and  even  in  spite  of  his  direct  and  strenuous  efforts,  he  be- 
came oppressed  with  a  sense  of  injustice  and  undeserved 
persecution.  The  apparent  uselessness  of  every  attempt  to 
shake  himself  free  from  these  trammels  of  routine  rendered 
him  desperate  and  reckless,  and  the  serious  diminution  of 
his  hours  for  play  and  exercise  made  him  dispirited  and  out 
of  sorts.  And  all  this  brought  on  a  bitter  fit  of  home-sick- 
ness, during  which  he  often  thought  of  writing  home  and 
imploring  to  be  removed  from  school,  or  even  of  taking  his 
deliverance  into  his  own  hands,  and  running  away  himself. 
But  he  knew  that  his  father  and  mother  were  already  dis- 
tressed beyond  measure  to  hear  of  the  mill-round  of  punish- 
ment and  discredit  into  which  he  had  fallen,  and  about 
which  he  frankly  informed  them  ;  so  for  their  sakes  he  de- 
termined to  bear  up  a  little  longer. 

Walter  was  getting  a  bad  name  as  an  idler,  and  was  fast 
losing  his  self-respect. 

Happily  our  young  Walter  was  saved  by  other  influences 
from  losing  his  self-respect.  He  was  saved  from  it  by  one 
or  two  kindly  and  genial  friendships  ;  by  success  in  other 
lines,  and  by  the  happy  consciousness  that  his  presence  at 
St.  Winifred's  was  a  help  and  comfort  to  some  who  needed 
such  assistance  with  sore  need. 


KIND    FRIENDS.  43 

One  afternoon  he  was  sitting  disconsolately  on  a  bench 
which  ran  along  a  blank  wall  on  one  side  of  the  court,  do- 
ing absolutely  nothing.  He  was  disgusted  with  the  w)rld 
and  with  himself.  It  was  three  o'clock,  and  the  court  was 
deserted  for  the  playground,  as  a  match  had  been  an- 
nounced that  afternoon  between  the  sixth  form  and  the 
school,  at  which  all  but  a  very  few  (who  never  did  any- 
thing but  loaf  about),  were  either  playing  or  looking  on. 
To  sit  with  his  head  bent  down,  on  a  bench  in  an  empty 
court  doing  nothing  while  a  game  was  going  on,  was  very 
unlike  the  Walter  Evson  of  six  weeks  before  ;  but  at  that 
moment  Walter  was  weary  of  detention  which  was  just 
over  ;  he  was  burdened  with  punishments,  he  was  half  sick 
for  want  of  exercise,  and  he  was  too  much  out  of  spirits  to 
do  anything. 

Keurick  and  Henderson  had  noticed  and  lamented  the 
change  in  him.  Not  exactly  knowing  the  causes  of  his  ill- 
success,  they  were  astonished  to  find  so  apparently  clever  a 
boy  taking  his  place  among  the  sluggards  and  dunces. 
On  this  day,  guessing  how  it  was  likely  to  be,  Kenrick  had 
proposed  not  to  join  the  game  until  detention  was  over, 
and  then  to  make  Evson  come  up  and  play  ;  and  Hender- 
son had  kindly  offered  to  stay  with  him,  and  add  his  per- 
suasions to  his  friend's. 

As  they  came  out  ready  dressed  for  football  they  caught 
sight  of  him. 

"  Come  along,  old  fellow ;  you're  surely  going  to  fight 
for  the  school  against  the  sixth,"  said  Kenrick. 

"  Isn't  it  too  late  ?" 

"No;  any  one  is  allowed  a  quarter  of  an  hour's 
grace," 

<s  Excuse  number  one  bowled  down,"  said  Henderson. 

"  But  I'm  not  dressed  ;  I  shan't  have  time  to  put  on  my 
jersey." 


44  kenrick's  plan. 

'  Never  mind  ;  you'll  only  want  your  cap  and  belt,  and 

can  play  in  your  shirt-sleeves." 

"  There  goes  excuse  number  two  ;  so  cut  along,"  said 
Henderson,  "  and  get  your  belt.  We'll  wait  for  you  here. 
Why,  the  eternal  friend's  getting  as  wasted  with  misery  as 
the  daughter  of  Babylon,"  said  Henderson,  as  Walter  ran 
off. 

"  Yes,"  said  Kenrick  ;  "  I  don't  like  to  see  that  glum 
look  instead  of  the  merry  face  he  came  with.  Never  mind; 
the  game'll  do  him  good ;  I  never  saw  such  a  player, 
Here  hs  is  ;  come  along." 

They  ran  up  and  found  a  hotly-contested  game  swaying 
two  and  fro  between  the  goals;  and  Walter,  who  was  very 
active,  and  a  first-rate  runner,  was  soon  in  the  thick  of  it, 
As  the  evenness  of  the  match  grew  more  apparent  the 
players  got  more  and  more  excited.  It  had  been  already 
played  several  times,  and  no  base  had  been  kicked,  except 
once  by  each  side,  when  the  scale  had  been  turned  by  a 
heavy  wind.  Hence  they  exhibited  the  greatest  eagerness, 
as  school  and  sixth  alike  held  it  a  strong  point  of  honor 
to  win,  and  a  shout  of  approval  greeted  any  successful 
catch  or  vigorous  kick. 

Whenever  the  ball  was  driven  beyond  the  bounds,  it  was 
kicked  straight  in,  generally  a  short  distance  only,  and  the 
players  on  both  sides  struggled  for  it  as  it  fell.  During 
one  of  these  momentary  pauses  Kenrick  whispered  to  Wal- 
ter, "  I  say,  Evson,  next  time  its  driven  outside  I'll  try  to 
get  it,  and  if  you'll  stand  just  beyond  the  crowd  I'll  kick  it 
to  you,  and  you  can  try  a  run." 

"Thanks,"  said  Walter,  eagerly;  "  I'll  do  my  best." 

The  opportunity  soon  occurred.  Kenrick  ran  for  the 
ball;  a  glance  showed  him  where  Walter  was  standing;  he 
kicked  it  with  precision,  and  not  too  high,  so  that  there 
was  no  time  for  the  rest  to  watch  where  it  was  likely  to 


A    BRILLIANT   RUN.  4-6 

descend  Walter  caught  it,  and  before  the  others  could 
recover  from  their  surprise,  was  off  like  an  arrow.  Of 
course  the  whole  of  the  opposite  side  were  upon  hiin  in  a 
moment,  and  he  had  to  be  as  quick  as  a  deer,  and  as  wary 
as  a  cat.  But  now  his  splendid  running  came  in,  and  he 
was,  besides,  rather  fresher  than  the  rest.  He  dodged,  he 
made  wide  detours,  he  tripped  some  and  sprang  past  others, 
he  dived  under  arms  and  through  legs,  he  shook  off  every 
touch,  wrenched  himself  free  from  one  capturer  by  leaving  in 
his  hands  the  whole  shoulder  of  his  shirt,  and  got  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  goal.  At  last  he  saw  that  there  was  one 
part  of  the  field  comparatively  undefended :  in  this  direc- 
tion he  darted  like  lightning — charged  and  split,  by  the 
vehemence  of  his  impulse,  two  fellows  who  stood  with  out- 
Btrctched  arms  to  stop  him — seized  the  favorable  instant, 
and,  by  a  swift  and  clever  drop-kick,  sent  the  ball  flying 
over  the  bar  amid  deafening  cheers,  just  as  half  the  other 
eide  flung  him  down  and  precipitated  themselves  over  his 
body. 

The  run  was  so  brilliant  and  so  plucky,  and  the  last  burst 
so  splendid,  that  even  the  defeated  side  could  hardly  for- 
bear to  cheer  him.  As  for  the  conquerors,  their  enthusi- 
asm knew  no  bounds  ;  they  shook  Walter  by  the  hand, 
patted  him  on  the  back,  clapped  him,  and  at  lasi  lifted  him 
on  their  shoulders  for  general  inspection.  As  yet  he  was 
known  to  very  few,  and  "  Who's  that  nice-looking  little 
fellow  who  got  the  school  a  base  ?"  was  a  question  which 
was  heard  on  every  side. 

"That's  Evson;  Evson;  Evson,  a  new  fellow,"  answered 
Kenrick,  Henderson,  and  all  who  knew  him,  as  fast,  as  they 
could,  in  reply  to  the  general  queries.  They  were  proud 
to  know  him  just  then,  and  this  little  triumph  occurred  in 
the  nick  of  time  to  raise  poor  Walter  ir  '.is  own  e6tinia< 
tion. 


16  FRIENDSHIP. 

"  Thanks,  Kenrick,  thanks,"  be  said,  warmly  grasping 
his  friend's  hand,  as  they  left  the  field.  "  They  ought  to 
have  cheered  you,  not  me,  for  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you  I 
should  not  have  got  that  base." 

"  Pooh  !"  was  the  answer ;  "  I  couldn't  have  got  it  my- 
self under  any  circumstances  ;  and  even  if  I  could,  it  is  at 
least  as  much  pleasure  to  me  that  you  should  have  done 
it." 

Of  all  earthly  spectacles  few  are  more  beautiful,  and  in 
some  aspects  more  touching,  than  a  friendship  between  two 
boys,  unalloyed  by  any  taint  of  selfishness,  indiscriminating 
in  its  genuine  enthusiasm,  delicate  in  its  natural  reserve. 


CHAPTER  THE   SIXTH. 

A  BURST  OF  WILFULNESS. 

ALTHOUGH  Walter's  football  triumphs  prevented 
him  from  losing  self-respect  and  sinking  into  wretch- 
edness or  desperation,  they  did  not  save  him  from  'his 
usual  arrears  of  punishment  and  extra  work.  Besides  this, 
it  annoyed  him  bitterly  to  be  always,  and  in  spite  of  all 
effort,  bottom,  or  nearly  bottom,  of  his  form.  He  knew 
that  this  grieved  and  disappointed  his  parents  nearly  as 
much  as  himself,  and  he  feared  that  they  would  not  under- 
stand the  reason  which,  in  his  case,  rendered  it  excusable — 
viz.,  the  enormous  amount  of  purely  routine  work  for  which 
other  boys  had  been  prepared  by  previous  training,  and  in 
which,  under  his  present  discouragements  and  inconveni 
ences,  he  felt  it  impossible  to  recover  ground.  It  was 
hard  to  be  below  boys  to  whom  he  knew  himself  to  be 
superior  in  every  intellectual  quality  ;  it  was  hard  for  a 
boy  really  clever  aud  lively,  to  be  set  down  at  once  as  an 
idler  aud  dunce.  And  it  made  Walter  very  miserable. 
For  meanwhile  Mr.  Paton  had  taken  quite  a  wrong  view 
of  his  character.  He  answered  so  well  at  times,  construed 
so  happily,  and  showed  such  bright  flashes  of  intelligence 
and  interest  in  parts  of  his  work,  that  Mr.  Paton,  making 
no  allowance  for  new  methods  and  an  untrained  memory, 
set  him  down,  by  an  error  of  judgment,  as  at  once  able 
and  obstinate,  capable  of  doing  excellently,  and  wilfully 
refusiug  to  do  so.  This  was  a  phase  of  character  which 
always  excited  his  indignation ;  and  it  was  for  the  boy's 
cwn  sake  that  he  set  himself  to  correct  it,  if  possible. 

41 


i8  MISUNDEKSTANDINGS. 

Walter's  vexation  and  misery  reached  its  acme  on  the 
receipt  by  his  father  of  his  first  school  character,  which 
document  his  father  sent  back  for  Walter's  own  perusal, 
with  a  letter  which,  if  not  actually  reproachful,  was  at  least 
uneasy  and  dissatisfied  in  tone. 

For  the  character  itself  Walter  cared  little,  knowing  well 
that  it  was  founded  throughout  on  misapprehension  ;  but 
his  lather's  letter  stirred  the  very  depths  of  his  heart,  and 
made  them  turbid  with  passion  and  sorrow.  He  received 
it  at  dinner-time,  and  read  it  as  he  went  across  the  court 
to  the  detention-room,  of  which  he  was  now  so  frequent  an 
occupant.  It  was  a  bright  September  day,  and  he  longed 
to  be  out  at  some  game,  or  among  the  hills,  or  on  the 
shore.  Instead  of  that,  he  was  doomed  for  his  failures  to 
two  long  weary  hours  of  mechanical  pendriving,  of  which 
the  results  were  torn  up  when  the  two  hours  were  over. 
He  had  had  no  exercise  for  the  last  week  ;  all  his  spare 
time  had  been  taken  up  with  impositions  ;  Mr.  Robertson 
had  given  him  a  severe  and  angry  lecture  that  morning  ; 
even  Mr.  Patou,  who  rarely  used  strong  language,  had 
called  him  intolerable  and  incorrigible,  and  had  threatened 
a  second  report  to  the  head  master,  because  this  was  the 
tenth  successive  Greek  grammar  lesson  in  which  he  had 
failed.  Added  to  all  this,  he  was  suffering  from  headache 
and  lassitude.  And  now  his  father's  letter  was  the  cumu- 
lus of  his  misfortunes.  A  rebellious,  indignant,  and  "  iolent 
spirit  rose  in  him.  Was  he  always,  for  no  fault  of  his 
own,  to  be  bullied,  baited,  driven,  misunderstood,  and 
crushed  in  this  way  ?  If  it  was  of  no  use  trying  to  be 
good,  and  to  do  his  duty,  how  would  it  do  to  try  tho 
other  experiment — to  fling  off  the  trammels  of  duty  and 
principle  altogether  ;  to  do  all  those  things  which  inclina- 
tion suggested  and  the  moral  sense  forbade  ;  to  enjoy  him- 
self ;  to  declare  himself  on  the  side  of  pleasure  and  self 


TWO    IDEALS.  49 

Indulgence  ?  Certainly  this  would  save  him  from  much 
unpleasantness  and  annoyance  in  many  ways.  He  waa 
young,  vigorous,  active  ;  he  might  easily  make  himself 
more  popular  than  he  was  with  the  boys  ;  and  as  for  the 
authorities,  do  what  he  would,  it  appeared  that  he  could 
hardly  be  in  worse  disrepute  than  now.  Vice  bade  high 
as  he  thought  of  it  all,  his  pen  flew  faster,  and  his  pulse 
seemed  to  scud  the  blood  bounding  through  his  veins  as  ho 
tightened  the  grasp  of  his  left  hand  round  the  edge  of  the 
desk. 

Hitherto  the  ideal  which  he  had  set  before  him,  as  the 
standard  to  be  attained  during  his  school  life,  had  been 
one  iu  which  a  successful  devotion  to  duty,  and  a  real 
effort  to  attain  to  "godliness  and  good  learning,"  had 
borne  the  largest  share.  But  on  this  morning  a  very  dif- 
ferent ideal  rose  before  him  ;  lie  would  abandon  all  interest 
in  school  work,  and  only  aim  at  being  a  gay,  high-spirited 
boy,  living  solely  for  pleasure,,  amusament,  and  self-indul- 
geuce.  There  were  many  such  around  him — heroes  among 
their  school-fellows,  popular,  applauded  and  proud.  En- 
dowed as  he  was  with  every  gift  of  person  and  appearance, 
to  this  condition  at  least  he  felt  that  he  could  easily  attaiu. 

Yes  ;  he  would  follow  the  multitude  to  do  all  the  evil 
which  he  saw  being  done  around  him  ;  it  looked  a  joyous 
aud  delightful  prospect. 

The  letter  from  home  was  his  chief  stumbling-block.  He 
loved  his  father  and  mother  with  almost  passionate  devo- 
tion :  he  clung  to  his  home  with  an  intensity  of  couceu 
trated  love.  He  really  had  tried  to  please  them  and  to  do 
his  best ;  but  yet  they  didn't  seem  to  give  him  credit  for  it. 
Look  at  this  cold,  reproachful  letter  ;  it  maddened  him  to 
think  of  it. 

There  was  only  one  thing  which  checked  him.  It  was 
a  little  voice,  which  had  been  more  silent  lately,  because 

3 


50  IS  A   PA88ION. 

other  and  passionate  tones  were  heard  more  loudly  ;  bat 
yet  even  from  a  child  poor  Walter  had  been  accustomed 
to  listen  with  reverence  to  its  admonitions.  It  was  a  voice 
behind  him  saying — "  This  is  the  way,  walk  ye  in  it ;"  now 
that  he  was  turning  aside  to  the  right  hand  or  to  the  left. 
But  the  noble  accents  in  which  it  whispered  of  patience 
were  drowned  just  now  in  the  clamorous  turbulence  of  those 
other  voices  of  appeal. 

The  two  hours  of  detention  were  over,  and  the  struggle 
was  over  too.  Walter  drew  his  pen  with  a  fierce  and 
angry  scrawl  over  the  lines  he  had  written,  showed  them 
up  to  the  master  in  attendance  with  a  careless  and  almost 
impudent  air,  and  was  hardly  out  of  the  room  before  he 
gave  a  shout  of  emancipation  and  defiance.  Impatience 
and  passion  had  won  the  day. 

He  ran  up  to  the  playground  as  hard  as  he  could  tear, 
to  work  off  the  excitement  of  his  spirits,  and  get  rid  of 
the  inward  turmoil.  On  a  grass  bank  at  the  far  end  of  it 
he  saw  two  boys  seated,  whom  he  knew  at  once  to  be  Hen- 
derson and  Kenrick,  who,  for  a  wonder,  were  reading  Shaks- 
peare  ! 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Henderson,"  he  said  ;  "  I  can'i 
and  I  won't  stand  this  any  longer.  It's  the  last  detentiou 
breaks  the  boy's  back.  I  hate  St.  Winifred's,  I  hate  Dr. 
Lane,  I  hate  Robertson,  and  I  hate,  hate,  hate  Paton,"  he 
paid,  stamping  angrily. 

"  Hooroop  1"  said  Henderson  ;  "  so  the  patient  Evson 
is  on  fire  at  last.     Tell  it  not  to  Dubbs  1" 

"  Why,  Walter,  what's  all  this  about  ?"  asked  Ken« 
i  ick. 

"  Why,  Ken,"  said  Walter,  more  quietly,  "  here's  a  his- 
tory of  my  life  :  Greek  grammar,  Hues,  detention,  caning 
i — caning,  detention,  lines,  Greek  grammar.  I'm  sick  of  it; 
[  can't  and  I  won't  stand  it  any  more." 


A    QUARREL.  51 

"Whether,"  spouted  Henderson,  from  the  volume  on  hia 
knee — 

"  Whether  'twere  nobler  for  the  mind  to  suffer 
The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune, 
Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 
And  by  opposing  end  them!" 

"End  them  I  will,"  said  Walter;  "somehow,  I'll  pay 
him  one,  depend  upon  it." 

Somers,  the  head  of  the  school,  whose  fag  Walter  was, 
passing  by  at  the  moment,  caught  the  last  sentence;  "What 
is  the  excitement  among  you  small  boys  ?" 

"  The  old  story,  pitching  into  Paton,"  said  Kenrick, 
indifferently,  and  rather  contemptuously;  for  he  was  a  pro- 
tege of  Somers,  and  felt  annoyed  that  he  should  see  Wal- 
ter's unreasonable  display  ;  and  more  so  as  Somers  had 
asked  him  already,  "  why  he  was  so  much  with  that  idle 
new  fellow  who  was  always  being  placed  lag  in  his  form  ?" 

"  What's  it  all  about  ?"  asked  Somers  of  Kenrick. 

"  Because  he  gets  lines  for  missing  his  grammar,  I  sup 
pose."  There  was  something  in  the  tone  which  was  espe- 
cially offensive  to  Walter  ;  for  it  sounded  as  if  Kenrick 
wanted  to  show  him  the  cold  shoulder  before  his  great 
friend,  the  head  of  the  school. 

"  Oh,  that  all  ?  Well,  my  dear  fellow,  the  remedy's 
easy  ;  work  at  it  a  little  harder  ;"  and  Som:-rs  walked  on, 
humming  a  tune. 

"  I  wonder  what  he  calls  harder,"  said  Walter.  "  When  I 
first  came  I  used  to  get  up  quite  early  in  the  morning,  and 
learn  it  till  I  was  half  stupid  ;  I  wouder  whether  he  ever 
did  as  much  ?" 

"  Well,  but  it's  no  good  abusing  Paton,"  said  Kenrick; 
11  of  course,  if  you  don't  know  the  lesson,  he  concludes  you 
haven't  learnt  it." 


52  A    QUARREL. 

"  Thank  you  for  nothing,  Kenrick,"  said  Walter,  curtly, 
"  come  along,  Flip." 

Kenrick  was  vexed ;  he  was  conscious  of  having  shown  a 
little  coolness  and  want  of  sympathy :  and  he  looked 
anxiously  after  Henderson  and  Walter  as  they  walked 
away. 

Presently  he  started  up,  and  ran  after  them.  "  Don't  be 
offended,  Walter,  my  boy,"  he  said,  seizing  his  hand.  •*  I 
didn't  mean  to  be  cold  just  now ;  but,  really,  I  don't  see 
why  you  should  be  so  very  wrathful  with  Paton  ;  what  can 
a  master  do  if  one  fails  in  a  lesson  two  or  three  times  run- 
ning ?  he  must  pum'sli  one,  I  suppose." 

"  Hang  Paton!"  said  Walter,  shaking  off  his  hand  rather 
angrily,  for  he  was  now  thoroughly  out  of  temper. 

"  Oh,  very  well,  Evson,"  said  Kenrick,  whose  chief  fault 
was  an  intense  pride,  which  took  fire  ou  the  least  provo- 
cation, and  which  made  him  take  umbrage  at  the  slight- 
est offence  ;  catch  me  making  an  advance  to  you  again. 
Henderson,  you  left  your  book  on  the  grass  ;"  and  turning 
on  his  heel,  he  walked  slowly  away — heavy  at  heart,  for 
he  liked  Walter  better  than  any  other  boy  in  the  school, 
and  was  half  ashamed  to  break  with  him  about  such  a 
trifle. 

Henderson,  apart  from  his  somewhat  frivolous  and  non- 
sensical tone,  was  a  well-meaning  fellow.  When  he  was 
walking  with  Walter,  he  had  intended  to  chaff  him  about 
his  sudden  burst  of  ill-temper,  and  jest  away  his  spirit  of 
revenge  ;  but  he  saw  that  poor  Walter  was  in  no  mood  for 
jokes,  and  he  quite  lacked  the  moral  courage  to  give  good 
advice  in  a  sober  or  serious  way,  or  to  recommend  any 
course  because  it  was  right.  This,  at  present,  was  beyond 
Henderson's  standard  of  good,  so  he  left  Walter  and  went 
back  for  his  book. 

And  Walter,  flinging  into  the  school-room,  found,  several 


one's  own  WA1.  53 

spirits  seven  times  more  wicked  than  himself,  and  fed  the 
fire  of  his  wrath  with  the  fuci  of  unbounded  abuse,  mock- 
ery, and  scorn  of  Mr.  Paton,  in  which  he  was  heartily 
abetted  by  the  others,  who  hailed  all  indications  that  Wal- 
ter was  likely  to  become  one  of  themselves.  And  that 
evening,  instead  of  attempting  to  get  up  any  of  his  work, 
Walter  wasted  the  whole  time  of  preparation  in  noise,  folly, 
aud  turbulence. 

He  got  up  next  morning  breathing,  with  a  sense  of  defi 
ance  and  enjoyment,  his  new  atmosphere  of  self-will.  lie, 
of  course,  broke  down  utterly,  more  utterly  than  ever,  h 
Ins  morning  lessons,  and  got  a  proportionately  longer  im- 
position. Going  back  to  his  place,  he  purposely  Hung 
down  his  books  on  the  desk,  one  after  another,  with  a 
bang  ;  and  for  each  book  which  he  had  flung  down,  Mr. 
Paton  gave  him  a  hundred  lines,  whereupon  he  laughed  sar- 
castically, and  got  two  hundred  more.  Conscious  that  the 
boys  were  watching  with  some  amusement  this  little  exhi- 
bition of  temper  and  trial  of  wills,  he  then  took  out  a  sheet 
of  paper,  wrote  on  it,  in  large  letters,  the  words  Two 
hundred  lines  for  Mr.  Paton,  and  amid  the  tittering  of 
the  form,  carried  it  up  to  Mr.  Paton's  desk. 

This  was  the  most  astoundingly-impudent  and  insubordi- 
nate act  which  had  ever  been  done  to  Mr.  Paton  for  years, 
and  it  was  now  his  turn  to  be  angry.  But  mastering  his 
anger  with  admirable  determination,  he  merely  said  :  "  Ev- 
son,  you  must  be  beside  yourself  this  morning  ;  it  is  very 
rarely,  indeed,  that  a  new  boy  is  so  far  gone  in  disobedience 
as  this.  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  you  are  the 
most  audacious  aud  impertinent  new  boy  with  whom  I  have 
ever  had  to  deal.  I  must  cane  you  in  my  room  after  de- 
tention, to  which  you  will,  of  course,  go." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Walter,  with  a  smile  of  impudent 
•Qi'g  froid ;  and  the   form  tittered   again   as  he  walked 


51  DESPEKATION. 

noisily  to  his  seat.    But  Mr.  Paton,  allowing  for  his  violeut 
frame  of  mind,  took  no  notice  of  this  last  affront. 

Whereupon  Walter,  taking  another  large  piece  of  paper, 
and  a  spluttering  quill  pen,  wrote  on  it,  with  a  great  deal 
of  scratching  ; 


Duo  from  Evsou. 

to 

Mr.  Paton. 

For  missing  lesson,  ..... 

.     100  lines. 

For  laying  down  books,          . 

300  lines. 

For  laughing, 

.     200  lines. 

For  writing  200  lines,    .         .         .         . 

A  caning, 

Detention  of  course. 

Thank  you  for  nothing. 

And  on  the  other  side  of  the  sheet  he  wrote,  in  large  letters, 
— "NO  GO  1"  Which  being  done,  he  passed  the  sheet 
along  the  form. 

"  Evson,"  said  Mr.  Paton,  quietly,  "  bring  me  that 
paper." 

Walter  took  it  up — looking  rather  alarmed  this  time — 
but  with  the  side  "  No  go !"  uppermost. 

"  What  is  this,  Evson  ?" 

"  Number  ninety,  sir,"  said  Walter,  amid  the  now  urn 
concealed  laughter  of  the  rest,  who  knew  very  well  that  be 
had  intended  it  for  "  No  go." 

Mr.  Paton  looked  curiously  at  Walter  for  a  minute, 
and  then  said — "  Evson,  Evson,  I  could  not  have  thought 
you  so  utterly  foolish.  Well,  you  know,  that  each  fresh 
act  must  have  its  fresh  punishment.  You  must  leave  the 
room  now,  and  besides  all  your  other  punishments  I  must  also 
report  you  to  the  head  master.  You  can  best  judge  witb 
what  result." 

Walter  left  the  room  quite  coolly,  with  a  sneer  on  his 


A    KIGIP    WILL.  55 

dps,  and  banged  the  door  ;  yet  the  next  moment,  when  he 
found  himself  in  the  court  alone,  unsupported  by  the  coun« 
tenance  of  those  who  enjoyed  his  rebelliousness,  he  seated 
himself  on  a  bench  in  the  courtyard,  hung  his  head  on  his 
breast  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

Kenrick  happened  to  cross  the  court.  The  moment 
Walter  caught  sight  of  him  he  sat  with  head  erect  and 
arms  folded,  but  Kenrick  was  not  to  be  deceived.  He 
had  caught  one  glimpse  of  Walter  first ;  he  saw  his  eyes 
wet  with  tears,  and  knew  that  he  was  in  trouble.  He 
hung  on  his  foot  doubtfully  for  one  moment — but  then  his 
pride  came  in  ;  he  remembered  the  little  pettish  repulse  in 
the  playground  the  day  before  ;  the  opportunity  was  lost, 
and  he  walked  slowly  on. 

And  Walter's  heart  grew  as  hard  within  him  as  a  stone. 


CHAPTER  THE  SET  ENTH. 

VOGUE  LA  GALERE. 

THAT  afternoon  Mr.  Paton,  going  into  the  Combination 
Room,  where  the  masters  often  met,  threw  himself 
into  one  of  the  arm-chairs  with  an  unwonted  expres- 
sion of  vexation  and  disgust  on  his  usually  placid  features. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Paton  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Robertson.  "  Is  to-day's  Times  too  liberal  for  your  no- 
tions, or  what  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Paton  ;  "  but  I  have  just  been  caning 
Evson,  a  new  boy,  and  the  fellow's  stubborn  obstinacy  and 
unaccountable  coolness  annoy  mc  exceedingly." 

"  O  yes  ;  he's  a  pupil  of  mine,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  and  he 
has  never  been  free  from  punishment  since  he  came.  Even 
your  Procrustean  rule  seems  to  fail  with  him,  Paton.  What 
have  you  been  obliged  to  cane  him  for  ?" 

Mr.  Paton  related  Walter's  escapade. 

"  Well,  of  course  you  had  no  choice  but  to  cane  him," 
replied  his  colleague,  "  for  such  disobedience  ;  but  how  did 
he  take  it?" 

"  In  the  oddest  way  possible.  He  came  in  with  pund* 
lious  politeness,  obviously  assumed,  with  sarcastic  intentions. 
When  I  took  up  the  cane  he  stood  with  arms  folded,  and 
a  singularly  dogged  look  ;  in  fact,  his  manner  disarmed  me, 
You  know  I  detest  caning,  and  I  really  could  not  do  it, 
never  having  had  occasion  for  it  for  months  together 
I  gave  him  two  2uts,  and  then  left  off.  '  May  I  go,  sir  T 
fce  asked.  '  Yes,'  I  said,  and  he  left  the  room  with  a  bow 
and  a  '  Thank  you,  sir.'     I  am  really  sorry  for  the  boy 


A    DIFFERENT    OPINION.  57 

for  as  I  was  obliged  to  send  him  to  Dr.  Lane,  he  will  pro- 
bably get  another  flogging  from  him." 

"  What  a  worthless  boy  he  must  be,"  answered  Mr. 
Robertson. 

"  No,  not  exactly  worthless  ;  there's  something  abotft 
him  I  can't  help  liking  ;  but  most  impudeut  and  stubborn.'1 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Mr.  Percival,  another  of  the  masters, 
who  had  been  listening  attentively  to  the  conversation. 
"  I  humbly  venture  to  think  that  you're  both  mistaken  in 
that  boy.  I  like  him  exceedingly,  and  think  him  as  pro- 
mising a  lad  as  any  in  the  school.  I  never  knew  any  boy 
behave  more  modestly  and  respectfully." 

"  Why,  how  do  you  know  anything  of  him  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Robertson  in  surprise. 

"  Only  by  accident.  I  had  once  or  twice  noticed  him 
among  the  detenus,  and  being  sorry  to  think  that  a  new 
boy  should  be  an  habitue  of  the  extra  school-room,  I  asked 
him  one  day  why  he  was  sent.  He  told  me  that  it  was 
for  failing  in  a  lesson,  and  when  I  asked  why  he  hadn't 
learned  it,  he  said,  very  simply  and  respectfully,  '  I  reallj 
did  my  very  best,  sir  ;  but  it's  all  new  work  to  me.'  Look 
at  the  boy's  innocent,  engaging  face,  and  you  will  be  sure 
that  he  was  telling  me  the  truth. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  continued  Mr.  Percival,  "  you'll  think 
this  very  slight  ground  for  setting  my  opinion  against 
yours  ;  but  I  was  pleased  with  Evson's  manner,  and  asked 
him  to  come  and  take  a  stroll  on  the  shore,  that  I  mieht 
know  something  more  of  him.  Do  you  know,  I  never 
found  a  more  intelligent  companion.  He  was  all  life  and 
vivacity  ;  it  was  quite  a  pleasure  to  be  with  him.  Being 
new  to  the  sea,  he  didn't  know  the  names  of  the  common 
est  things  on  the  shore,  and  if  you  had  seen  his  face  light 
np  as  he  kept  picking  up  whelk's  eggs,  and  mermaid's 
purses,  and  zoophites,  and  hermit-crabs,  and  bits  of  uro- 

3* 


58  A    SECRET   OF    SUCCESS. 

camium  or  coralline,  and  asking  me  all  I  could  tell  him 
about  them,  you  would  not  have  thought  him  a  stupid  oi 
worthless  boy." 

"I  don't  know,  Percival  ;  you  are  a  regular  conjuror 
All  sorts  of  ne'er-do-wells  succeed  under  your  manipulation, 
You're  a  first-rate  hand  at  gathering  grapes  from  thorns 
and  figs  from  thistles.  Why,  even  out  of  that  Caliban, 
old  Woods,  you  used  to  extract  a  gleam  of  human  intel- 
ligence." 

"  He  wasn't  a  Caliban  at  all.  I  found  him  an  excellent 
fellow  at  heart  ;  but  what  could  you  expect  of  a  boy  who, 
because  he  was  big,  awkward,  and  stupid,  was  always  get- 
ting flouted  on  all  sides  ?" 

"  You  must  have  some  talisman  for  transmuting  boys 
if  you  consider  old  Woods  an  excellent  fellow,  Percival. 
I  found  him  a  mass  of  laziness  and  brute  strength.  Do 
give  me  your  secret." 

"  Try  a  little  kindness  and  sympathy.  I  have  no  other 
lecret." 

"  I'm  not  conscious  of  failing  in  kindness,"  said  Mr.  Ro- 
bertson, drily.     "  My  fault,  I  think,  is  being  too  kind." 

"  To  clever,  promising,  bright  boys,  yes  ;  to  unthankful 
and  evil  boys  (excuse  me  for  saying  so) — no.  You  don't 
try  to  descend  to  their  dull  level,  and  so  understand  their 
difficulties.  You  don't  suffer  fools  gladly,  as  we  masters 
ought  to  do.  But,  Paton,"  he  said,  turning  the  conver- 
sation, which  seemed  distasteful  to  Mr.  Robertson,  "  will 
you  try  how  it  succeeds  to  lay  the  yoke  a  little  less  heavily 
on  Evson  ?" 

"  Wsll;  Percival,  I  don't  think  that  I've  consciously 
bullied  him.  I  can't  make  my  system  different  to  him  and 
other  boys." 

4  My  dear  Paton,  forgive  my  saying  that  I  don't  think 
that  a  rigid  system  is  the  fairest.     Fish  of  very  different 


DISGRACE.  59 

Bortf  and  sizes  come  to  our  nets,  and  you  can't  shove  a 
turb  >t  through  the  same  mesh  that  barely  admits  a  sprat." 

"  I'll  think  of  what  you  say  ;  but  1  must  leave  him  in 
Dr.  Lane's  hands  now,"  said  Mr.  Paton. 

"  Who,  I  heartily  hope,  won't  flog  him,"  said  Mr.  Per- 
rival. 

"  Why  ?     I  don't  see  how  he  can  do  otherwise." 

"  Because  it  will  simply  drive  him  to  despair  ;  because, 
rf  I  know  anything  of  his  character,  it  will  have  upon  him 
an  effect  incalculably  bad." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Mr.  Patoa 

The  conversation  dropped,  and  Mr.  Percival  resumed  his 
newspaper. 

When  Walter  went  to  Dr.  Lane  in  the  evening,  the 
Doctor  inquired  kindly  and  carefully  into  the  nature  of  his 
offence.  This,  unfortunately,  was  clear  enough,  and  Walter 
was  far  too  ingenuous  to  attempt  any  extenuation  of  it. 
Even  if  he  had  not  been  intentionally  idle,  it  was  plain,  on 
his  own  admission,  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  the  greatest 
possible  insubordination  and  disrespect.  These  offences 
were  rare  at  St.  Winifred's,  and  especially  rare  in  a  new 
boy.  Puzzled  as  he  was  by  conduct  so  unlike  the  boy's 
apparent  character,  and  interested  by  his  natural  and 
manly  manner,  yet  Dr.  Lane  had  in  this  case  no  alternative 
but  the  infliction  of  corporal  punishment. 

Humiliated  again,  and  full  of  bitter  anger,  Walter  re- 
tarned  to  the  great  school-room,  where  he  was  received 
with  sympathy  and  kindness  by  the  others  in  his  class.  It 
was  the  dark  part  of  the  evening  before  tea-time,  and  the 
ooys,  sitting  idly  round  the  fire,  were  in  an  apt  mood  for 
folly  and  mischief.  They  began  a  vehement  discussiou 
about  Paton's  demerits,  and  called  him  every  hard  name 
they  could  invent.  Walter  took  little  part  in  this,  for  he 
«vas  smarting  too  severely  under  the  sense  of  oppression  to 


SO  "paying  out." 

find  relief  in  mere  abuse  ;  but,  from  his  flashing  eyes  and 
the  dark  scowl  that  sat  so  ill  on  his  face,  it  was  evident 
that  a  bad  spirit  had  obtained  the  thorough  mastery  over 
all  his  better  and  gentler  impulses. 

"  Can't  we  do  something  to  serve  the  fellow  out  V*  said 
A  nthony,  one  of  the  boys  in  Walter's  dormitory. 

"  But  what  can  we  do  ?"  asked  several. 

"  What,  indeed  ?"  asked  Henderson,  mockingly  ;  and 
as  it  was  his  way  to  quote  whatever  he  had  last  been  read- 
ing, he  began  to  spout  from  the  peroration  of  a  speech 
which  he  had  seen  in  the  paper — "  Aristocracy,  throned  on 
the  citadel  of  power,  and  strong  in" 

"  What  a  fool  you  are,  Henderson,"  observed  Franklin, 
another  of  the  group  ;  "  I'll  tell  you  what  we  can  do  ; 
we'll  burn  that  horrid  black  book  in  which  he  enters  the 
detentions  and  impositions. 

"  Foor  book  J"  said  Henderson  ;  "  what  pangs  of  con- 
science it  will  suffer  in  the  flames  ;  give  it  not  the  glory 
of  such  martyrdom.  Walter,"  he  continued,  in  a  lower 
voice,  "  I  hope  that  you'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  this 
humbug  ?" 

"  I  will  though,  Henderson  ;  if  I'm  to  have  nothing  but 
canings  and  floggings,  I  may  just  as  well  be  caned  ano. 
flogged  for  something  as  for  nothing." 

u  The  desk's  locked,"  said  Anthony  ;  "  we  shan't  be  able 
to  get  hold  of  the  imposition  book." 

'■  I'll  settle  that,"  said  Walter  ;  "  here,  just  hand  me  the 
poker,  Dubbs." 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  thing,"  said  Daubeny  quietly,  and 
his  reply  was  greeted  with  a  shout  of  derision. 

"  Why,  you  poor  coward,  Dubbs,"  said  Franklin,  "  you 
couldn't  get  anything  for  handing  the  poker." 

"  I  never  supposed  I  could,  Franklin,"  he  answered  ; 
14  and  as  for  being  a  coward,  the  real  cowardice  would  ba 


THE   DESK    SMASHED.  61 

to  do  what's  absurd  and  wrong  for  fear  of  being  laughed 
at  or  being  kicked.  Well,  you  may  hit  me,"  he  said 
quietly,  as  Franklin  twisted  his  arm  tightly  round,  and  hit 
him  on  it,  "  but  you  can't  make  me  do  what  I  don't  choose." 

"  We'll  try,"  said  Franklin,  twisting  his  arm  still  more 
tightly,  and  hitting  harder. 

"  You'll  try  in  vain,"  answered  Daubeny,  though  the 
tears  stood  in  his  eyes  at  the  violent  pain. 

"  Drop  his  arm,  you  Franklin,"  indignantly  exclaimed 
Henderson,  who  though  he  was  always  teasing  Daubeny, 
was  very  fond  of  him,  "  drop  his  arm,  or,  by  Jove,  you'll 
find  that  two  can  play  at  that.  Dubbs  is  quite  right,  and 
you're  a  set  of  fools  if  you  think  you'll  do  any  good  by 
burning  the  punishment  book.  I've  got  the  poker,  and  you 
shan't  have  it  to  knock  the  desk  open.  I  suppose  Patou 
can  afford  sixpence  to  buy  another  book  ;  and  enter  a  tole- 
rable fresh  score  against  you  for  this  besides." 

"  But  he  won't  remember  my  six  hundred  lines,  and 
four  or  live  detentions,"  said  Walter  ;  "  here,  give  me  the 
poker." 

"  Pooh  1  pooh  !  Evson,  of  course  he'll  remember  them  ; 
here,  I'll  help  you  with  the  lines  ;  I'll  do  a  couple  of  hun- 
dred for  you,  and  the  rest  you  can  write  with  two  pens  at 
a  time  ;  it  won't  take  you  an  hour.  I'll  show  you  the 
two-pen  dodge  ;  I'll  admit  you  into  the  two-pen-etralia. 
Like  Milton,  you  shall  '  touch  the  slender  tops  of  various 
quills.'  No,  no,"  he  continued,  in  a  playful  tone,  iu  order 
not  to  make  Walter  in  a  greater  passion  than  he  was,  "  you 
can't  have  the  poker." 

"  It  doesn't  matter  ;  this'll  do  as  well  ;  and  here  goes," 
Baid  Walter,  seizing  a  wooden  stool.  "  There's  the  desk 
open  for  you,"  he  said,  as  he  brought  the  top  of  the  stool 
with  a  strong  blow  against  the  lid,  and  burst  the  ock  witb 
a  great  crash. 


62  LEAF   BY    LEAF. 

"  My  eyes  !  we  shall  get  into  a  row,"  said  Franklin, 
opening  bis  eyes  to  illustrate  his  exclamation. 

"  Well,  what's  clone's  done  ;  let's  all  take  our  share," 
said  Anthony,  diving  his  hand  into  the  desk.  "  Here's  ths 
imposition-book  for  you,  and  here  goes  leaf  number  one 
into  the  fire  ;  you  can  tear  out  the  next  if  you  like,  Frank- 
lin." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Franklin  ;  "  in  for  a  penny  in  for  a 
pound  ;  there  goes  the  second  leaf." 

"  And  here  the  third  ;  over  ankles  over  knees,"  said 
Burton,  another  of  those  present. 

"  Proverbial  Fool-osophy,"  observed  Henderson,  con- 
temptuously, as  Burton  handed  him  the  book.  "  Shall  I 
be  a  silly  sheep  like  the  rest  of  you,  and  leap  over  the 
bridge  because  your  leader  has  ?  I  suppose  I  must,  though 
it's  very  absurd."  He  wavered  and  hesitated  ;  sensible 
enough  to  disapprove  of  so  useless  a  proceeding  he  yet  did 
not  like  to  be  thought  afraid.  He  minded  what  fellows 
would  think. 

"  Do  what's  right,"  said  Daubeny,  "  and  shame  the 
devil ;  here,  give  me  the  book.  Now,  you  fellows,  you've 
torn  out  these  leaves,  and  done  quite  mischief  enough, 
Let  me  put  the  book  back,  and  don't  be  like  children  who 
hit  the  fender  against  which  they've  knocked  their  heads." 

"  Or  clogs  that  bite  the  stick  they've  been  thrashed 
with,"  said  Henderson.  "  You're  right,  Dubbs,  and  I  ro 
Bpect  you  ;  aye,  you  fellows  may  sneer  if  you  like,  but  I 
advised  you  not  to  do  it,  and  I  won't  make  myself  an  idiot 
because  you  do." 

"  Never  mind,"  drawled  Howard  Tracy  ;  "  I  hate  Paton, 
and  I'll  do  anything  to  spite  him  ;"  whereupon  he  snatched 
the  book  from  Daubeny,  and  threw  it  entire  into  the  flames. 
Poor  Tracy  had  been  even  in  more  serious  scrapes  with  Mr. 
Paton  than  Walter  had ;  his  vain  manner  was  peculiarly 


IN    THE   FLAMES.  63 

abhorent  to  the  master,  who  took  every  opportunity  of 
snubbing  him  ;  but  nothing  would  pierce  through  the 
thick  cloak  of  Tracy's  conceit,  and  fully  satisfied  with 
himself,  his  good  looks,  and  his  aristocratic  connections, 
he  sat  down  in  contented  ignorance,  and  despised  learning 
too  much  to  be  in  the  least  put  out  by  being  invariably  the 
last  in  his  form. 

"  What,  is  there  nothing  left  for  me  to  burn  V  said 
Walter,  who  sate  glowering  on  the  high  iron  fender,  and 
swinging  his  legs  impatiently.  "  Let's  see  what  else  there 
is  in  the  desk.  Here  are  a  pack  of  old  exercises  appa- 
rently, they'll  make  a  jolly  blaze.  Stop,  though,  are  they 
old  exercises  ?  Well,  never  mind  ;  if  not,  so  much  the 
better.     In  they  shall  go." 

"  Stop,  what  are  you  doing,  Walter  !"  said  Henderson, 
catching  him  by  the  arm  ;  "  you  know  these  can't  be  old 
exercises.  Paton  always  put  them  in  his  wastepaper 
basket,  not  in  his  desk.  Oh,  Walter,  what  have  you  done  ?" 

"  The  outside  sheets  were  exercises  anyhow,"  said  Wal- 
ter, gloomily  ;  "  here,  it's  no  good  trying  to  save  them 
now,  whatever  they  were"  (for  Henderson  was  attempting 
to  rake  them  out  between  the  bars)  ;  "  they're  done  for 
now,"  and  he  pressed  down  the  thick  mass  of  foolscap  into 
ohe  reddest  centre  of  the  fire,  and  held  it  there  until  nothing 
remained  of  it  but  a  heap  of  flaky  crimson  ashes. 

A  dead  silence  followed,  for  the  boys  felt  that  now  at 
any  rate  they  were  "  in  for  it." 

The  sound  of  the  tea-bell  prevented  further  mischief; 
and  as  Henderson  thrust  his  arm  through  Walter's,  he 
said,  "  Oh,  Evson,  I  wish  you  hadn't  done  that  ;  I  wish 
Fd  got  you  to  come  away  before.  What  a  passionate  fel- 
low you  are." 

"  Well,  it's  done  now,"  said  Walter  already  beginning 
to  soften,  and  to  repent  of  his  fatuity. 


6i  "  IN    FOE   IT." 

''What  can  we  do  ?"  said  Henderson,  anxiously. 

"  Take  the  consequences  ;  that's  all,"  answered  Walter 

"  Hadn't  you  better  go  and  tell  Paton  about  it  at  once, 
instead  of  letting  him  find  it  out  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Walter  ;  "  he's  done  nothing  but  bully  me, 
and  I  don't  care." 

"  Then  let  me  go,"  said  his  friend,  earnestly.  "  I  know 
Paton  well  ;  I'm  sure  he'd  be  ready  to  forgive  you,  if  I  ex- 
plained it  all  to  him." 

"  You're  very  good,  Flip  ;  but  don't  go  ;  it's  too  late." 

"  Well,  Walter,  you  mustn't  think  that  I  had  no  share 
in  this  because  of  being  afraid.  I  was  one  of  the  group, 
and  I'll  share  the  punishment  with  you,  whatever  it  is.  I 
hope  for  your  sake  it  won't  be  found  out." 

It  was  noised  through  the  school  in  five  minutes,  that 
Evson,  one  of  the  new  fellows,  had  smashed  open  Paton's 
desk,  and  burned  the  contents.  "  What  an  awful  row  he'li 
get  into,"  was  the  general  comment.  Walter  heard  Ken- 
rick  inquiring  eagerly  about  it  as  they  sate  at  tea  ;  bu« 
Keurick  didn't  ask  him  about  it,  though  they  sate  so  neai 
each  other.  After  the  foolish,  proud  manner  of  sensitive 
boys,  Walter  and  Keurick,  though  each  liked  the  other 
none  the  less,  were  not  on  speaking  terms.  Walter,  less 
morbidly  proud  than  Keurick,  would  not  have  suffered  this 
silly  alienation  to  continue  had  not  his  attention  been  occu- 
pied by  other  troubles.  Neither  of  them,  therefore,  liked 
to  be  the  first  to  break  the  ice,  and  now  in  his  most  serious 
difficulty  Walter  had  lost  the  advice  and  sympathy  of  his 
most  intimate  friend. 

The  fellows  seemed  to  think  that  he  must  inevitably  be 
expelled  for  this  fracas.  The  poor  boy's  thoughts  were 
very,  very  bitter  as  he  laid  his  head  that  night  on  his  rest 
less  pillow,  remembered  what  an  ungovernable  fool  he  had 
deen,  and  dreamt  of  his  happy  and  dear-loved  heme.    Ho\» 


REPENTANCE.  65 

strangely  lie  seemed  to  have  left  his  old  innocent  life  behind 
him,  and  how  little  he  would  have  believed  it  possible,  two 
months  ago,  that  he  could  by  any  conduct  of  his  own  him 
bo  soon  incurred,  or  nearly  incurred,  the  polity  of  expul- 
sion from  St  Winifred'*  *«hool 


CaAPTiiK  THE  EIGHTH. 

THE    BURNT    MANUSCRIPT. 

IT  may  be  supposed  that  during  chapel  the  next  morni  ag, 
and  when  he  went  into  early  school,  Walter  was  in  an 
agony  of  almost  unendurable  suspense ;  and  this  sus- 
pense was  doomed  to  be  prolonged  for  some  time,  until  at 
]ast  he  could  hardly  sit  still.  Mr.  Paton  did  not  at  once 
notice  that  his  desk  was  broken.  He  laid  down  his  books, 
and  went  on  as  usual  with  the  morning  lesson. 

At  length  Tracy  was  put  on.  He  stood  up  in  his  usual 
self-satisfied  way,  looking  admiringly  at  his  boots,  aud  run- 
ning his  delicate  white  hand  through  his  scented  hair.  Mr 
Paton  watched  him  with  a  somewhat  contemptuous  expres- 
sion, as  though  he  were  thinking  what  a  pity  it  was  that 
any  boy  should  be  such  a  little  puppy.  Henderson,  with 
his  usual  quick  discrimination,  had  nick-named  Tracy  the 
"  Lisping  Hawthornbud." 

"  Your  fifth  failure  this  week,  Tracy  ;  you  must  do  the 
usual  punishment,"  said  Mr.  Paton,  taking  up  his  key  to 
unlock  the  desk. 

"  Now  for  it,"  thought  all  the  form,  looking  on  with  great 
anxiety. 

The  key  caught  hopelessly  in  the  broken  lock.  Mr. 
Pa  ton's  attention  was  aroused  ;  he  pushed  the  lid  off  the 
lesk,  and  saw  at  once  that  it  had  been  broken  open. 

"  Who  has  broken  open  my  desk  ?" 

No  answer. 

He  looked  very  grave,  but  said  nothing,  looking  for  his 
tmposition-book. 

G6 


BUKNT.  61 

11  Where  is  my  imposition-book  ?" 

No  answer. 

"  And  where  is  my ?" 

Mr.  Paton  stopped,  and  looked  with  the  greatest  eager- 
ness over  every  corner  of  the  desk. 

"  Where  is  the  manuscript  I  left  here  with  my  imposition- 
book  ?"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  the  most  painful  anxiety. 

"  I  do  hope  and  trust,"  he  said,  turning  pale,  "  that  none 
of  you  have  been  wicked  enough  to  injure  it,"  and  here  his 
voice  faltered.  "  When  I  tell  you  that  it  was  of  the  utmost 
value,  I  am  sure  that  if  any  of  you  have  concealed  or  taken 
it,  you  will  give  it  back  at  once." 

There  was  a  deep  silence. 

"  Once  again,"  he  asked,  "  where  is  my  imposition- 
book  ?" 

"  Burnt,  sir  ;  burnt,  sir,"  said  one  or  two  voices,  hardly 
above  a  whisper. 

"  And  my  manuscript  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  louder  voice, 
and  in  still  greater  agitation.  "  Surely,  surely,  ycu  cannot 
have  been  so  thoughtless,  so  incredibly  unjust,  as  to" 

Walter  stood  up  in  his  place,  with  his  head  bent,  and 
his  face  covered  with  an  ashy  whiteness.  "  I  burnt  it, 
air,"  he  said,  in  an  almost  inaudible  voice,  and  trembling 
with  fear. 

"  Come  here,"  said  Mr.  Paton,  impetuously  ;  "  I  can't 
hear  what  you  say.  Now,  then,"  he  continued,  as  Walter 
crept  up  beside  his  desk. 

"  I  burnt  it,  sir,"  lie  said,  in  a  whisper. 

"  You — burnt — it  1"  said  Mr.  Paton,  starting  up  in  un- 
controllable emotion,  which  changed  into  a  burst  of  auger, 
»s  he  gave  Walter  a  box  on  the  ear  which  sounded  all 
over  the  room,  and  made  the  boy  stagger  back  to  his  place, 
But  the  flash  of  rage  was  gone  in  an  instant ;  and  the  next 
moment  Mr.  Paton,  afraid  of  trusting  himself  any  longer, 


68  THE    MANUSCEIPT. 

left  his  desk  and  hurried  out,  anxious  to  recover  in  solitude 
the  calmness  of  mind  and  action  which  had  been  so  terribly 
disturbed. 

Mr.  Percival,  who  taught  his  form  in  another  part  of  the 
room,  seeing  Mr.  Paton  box  Walter  so  violently  on  the 
ear,  and  knowing  that  this  was  the  very  reverse  of  his  nsual 
method,  since  he  had  never  before  touched  a  boy  in  anger, 
walked  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  just  as  Mr.  Paton, 
with  great  hurried  strides,  had  reached  the  door. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Mr.  Paton  ?"  he  asked. 

There  was  a  general  murmur  through  the  form,  out  of 
which  Mr.  Percival  caught  something  about  Mr.  Paton'a 
papers  having  been  burnt. 

Anxious  to  find  him,  to  ask  what  had  happened,  Mr. 
Percival,  leaving  the  room,  caught  sight  of  him,  pacing  with 
hasty  and  uneven  steps,  along  a  private  garden  walk  which 
belonged  to  the  masters. 

"  I  hope  nothing  unpleasant  has  occurred,"  he  said,  over- 
taking him. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing,"  said  Mr.  Paton,  with  quivering 
lip,  as  he  turned  aside.  And  then,  suppressing  his  emotion 
by  a  powerful  effort  of  self-control ;  "  it  is  only,"  he  caid, 
"  that  the  hard  results  of  fifteen  years'  continuous  labor  are 
now  condensed  into  a  heap  of  smut  and  ashes  in  the  school- 
room fire." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  your  Hebrew  manuscripts 
are  burnt  ?"  asked  Mr.  Percival  in  amazement. 

"  You  know  how  I  have  been  toiling  at  them  for  years, 
Percival ;  you  know  that  I  began  them  before  I  left  col- 
lege, that  I  regarded  them  as  the  chief  work  of  my  life,  and 
that  I  devoted  to  them  every  moment  of  my  leisure.  Yon 
know,  too,  the  pride  and  pleasure  which  I  took  in  their 
progress,  and  the  relief  with  which  I  turned  to  them  from 
the  vexatious  and  anxieties  of  one's  life  here.     To  work  at 


WHAT    IT    WAS.  08 

them  has  been  for  years  my  only  recreation  and  delight 
Well,  they  were  finished  at  last  ;  I  was  only  correcting 
them  foi  tne  press  ;  they  would  have  gone  to  the  printel 
in  a  month,  and  I  should  have  lived  to  complete  a  toilsome 
and  honorable  task.  Well,  the  dream  is  over,  and  a  hand 
fill  of  ashes  represents  the  struggle  of  my  best  years." 

Mr.  Percival  knew  well  that  he  had  been  working  for 
years  at  a  commentary  on  the  Hebrew  text  of  the  Four 
Greater  Prophets.  It  had  been  the  cherished  and  chosen 
task  of  his  life  ;  he  had  brought  to  it  great  stores  of  learn- 
ing, accumulated  in  the  vigor  of  his  powers,  and  the  enthu- 
siasm of  a  youthful  ambition,  and  he  had  employed  upon  it 
every  spare  hour  left  him  from  his  professional  duties.  He 
looked  to  it  as  the  means  of  doing  essential  service  to  the 
church  of  which  he  was  an  ordained  member,  and,  second- 
arily, as  the  road  to  reputation  and  well-merited  advance- 
ment. And  in  five  minutes  the  hand  of  one  angry  boy  had 
robbed  him  of  the  fruit  of  all  his  hopes. 

"  If  they  wanted  to  display  the  hatred  which  I  well  know 
that  they  feel,"  said  Mr.  Paton,  bitterly,  "  they  might  have 
chosen  any  way,  literally  any  way,  but  that.  They  might 
have  left  me,  at  least,  that  which  was  almost  my  only  plea- 
sure and  object  in  life,  and  which  had  no  connection  with 
them  or  their  pursuits."  And  his  face  grew  haggard  as  he 
stopped  in  his  walk,  and  tried  to  realize  the  extent  of  what 
he  had  lost.  "  I  would  rather  have  seen  everything  I  pos- 
sess in  the  whole  world  destroyed  than  that,"  he  said,  slowly. 
and  with  strong  emotion. 

"  And  was  it  really  Evson  who  did  this  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Percival,  filled  with  the  sincerest  pity  for  his  colleague's 
wounded  feelings. 

"  It  matters  little  who  did  it,  Percival  ;  but,  yes,  it  wa 
>>our  friend  Evson." 

"  The  little  graceless,  abominable  wretch  !"  exclaimed 


70  A    LIFERS    WOKK. 

Mr.  Percival,  with  anger,  "  he  must  be  expelled.      But 
can't  you  recommence  the  task  ?" 

"  Recommence  !"  said  Mr.  Patou,  in  a  hard  voice  ; 
"  and  who  will  give  me  back  the  hope  and  vigor  of  the  last 
fifteen  years  ?  How  shall  I  have  the  heart  again  to  toil 
through  the  same  long  trains  of  research  and  thought? 
Where  are  the  hundreds  of  references  which  I  had  sought 
out  and  verified  with  hours  of  heavy  midnight  labor  ?  How 
am  I  to  have  access  again  to  the  scores  of  books  which  I 
consulted  before  I  began  the  work  ?  The  very  thought  of 
it  sickens  me.  Youth  and  hope  are  over.  No,  Percival, 
there  is  no  more  to  be  said.  I  am  robbed  of  a  life's  work 
Leave  me,  please,  alone  for  a  little,  until  I  have  learnt  to 
say  less  bitterly.  '  God's  will  be  done.' " 

"  He  needeth  not 
Either  man's  work  or  his  own  gifts ;  who  best 
Bear  his  mild  yoke  they  please  him  best," 

said  Mr.  Percival,  in  a  tone  of  kind  and  deep  sympathy,  as 
he  left  him  to  return  to  the  school-room. 

But  once  in  sight  of  Mr.  Paton's  open  and  rifled  desk, 
Mr.  Percival's  pent-up  indignation  burst  forth  into  clear 
flame.  Stopping  in  front  of  Mr.  Paton's  form,  he  ex- 
claimed, in  a  voice  that  rang  with  scorn  and  sorrow — 

"  You  boys  do  not  know  the  immense  mischief  which 
your  thoughtless  and  worthless  spite  and  folly  have  caused. 
1  say,  boys — but  I  believe,  and  rejoice  to  believe,  that  one 
only  of  you  is  guilty,  and  I  rejoice,  too,  that  that  one  is  a 
new  boy,  who  must  have  brought  here  feelings  and  pas- 
sions more  worthy  of  an  ignorant  and  ill-trained  plough- 
boy  than  of  a  St.  Winifred's  scholar.  The  hand  that  would 
burn  a  valuable  manuscript  would  fire  a  rick  of  hay," 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  Henderson,  starting  up  and  interrupting 
aim,  "  we  were  all  very  nearly  as  bad.     It  was  the  rest  of 


MR.    1'KKCIVAL.  71 

Qb  thai  burnt  the  imposition-book  ;  Evson  had  nothing  to 
do  with  that."  Henderson  had  forgotten  for  the  moment 
that  lie  at  least  had  had  no  share  in  burning  the  imposition- 
book,  for  his  warm,  quick  heart  could  not  bear  that  these 
blows  should  fab  unbroken  on  his  friend's  head. 

But  his  generous  eifort  failed  ;  for  Mr.  Percival,  barely 
noticing  the  interruption,  continued — "  The  imposition- 
book  ?  I  know  nothing  about  that.  If  you  burnt  it  you 
were  very  foolish  and  reckless  ;  you  deserve  no  doubt  to 
be  punished  for  it,  but  that  was  comparatively  nothing 
But  do  you  know,  bad  boy,"  he  said,  turning  again  to 
Walter,  "do  you  know  what  you  have  done?  Do  you 
know  that  your  dastardly  spitefulness  has  led  you  to  de- 
stroy writings  which  had  cost  your  master  years  and  years 
of  toil  that  cannot  be  renewed  ?  He  treated  you  with  un- 
swerving impartiality  ;  he  never  punished  you  but  when 
you  deserved  punishment,  and  when  he  believed  it  to  be  for 
your  good,  and  yet  you  turn  upon  him  in  tins  adder-like 
way  ;  you  break  open  his  desk  like  a  thief,  and,  in  one  mo- 
ment of  despicable  ill-temper,  you  rob  him  and  the  world 
of  that  which  had  been  the  pursuit  and  object  of  his  life. 
You,  Evson,  may  well  hide  your  face" — for  Walter  had 
bent  over  the  desk,  and  in  agonies  of  shame  and  remorse 
had  covered  his  face  with  both  hands  ; — "  you  may  well  be 
ashamed  to  look  cites:  at  me  or  at  any  honest  and  manly, 
and  right-minded  boy  among  your  companions.  Yon  have 
done  a  wrong  for  which  it  will  be  years  hence  a  part  of 
your  retribution  to  remember,  that  nothing  you  can  ever 
do  can  repair  it,  or  do  away  with  its  effects.  I  am  more 
than  disappointed  with  you  You  have  done  mischief 
which  the  utmost  working  o.'  all  your  powers  cannot  for 
years  counterbalance,  if,  instead  of  being  as  base  and  idle 
as  you  now  appear  to  be,  you  were  to  devote  your  whole 
heart  to  work.     I  don't  know  what  will  be  done  to  vou  : 


72  CRUSHED. 

T,  for  my  part,  hope  that  you  will  not  be  suffered  to  remain 
with  us  ;  but  if  you  are,  I  am  sure  that  you  will  receive,  aa 
you  richly  deserve,  the  reprobation  and  contempt  of  every 
boy  among  your  school-fellows  who  is  capable  of  one  spark 
of  zionor  or  right  feeling." 

Every  word  that  Mr.  Percival  had  said  came  to  poor 
♦Valter  with  the  most  poignant  force  ;  all  the  master's  ve.- 
proaches  pierced  his  heart  and  let  blood.  He  sat  there 
not  stirring,  stunned  and  crushed,  as  though  he  had  been 
beaten  by  the  blows  of  a  hammer.  He  quailed  and  shud- 
dered to  think  of  the  great  and  cruel  injustice,  the  base 
and  grievous  injury  into  which  his  blind  passion  had  be- 
trayed him,  and  thought  that  he  could  never  hold  up  his 
head  again. 

Mr.  Percival's  indignant  expostulation  passed  over  the 
other  culprits,  who  heard,  it  like  a  thunder-storm.  There 
was  a  force  and  impetuosity  in  this  gentleman's  manner, 
when  his  anger  was  kindled,  which  had  long  gained  for  him 
among  the  boys,  with  whom  he  was  the  most  popular  of  all 
the  masters,  the  half-complimentary  sobriquet  of  "  Thun- 
der-and-lightning."  But  none  of  them  had  ever  before 
heard  him  speak  with  such  concentrated  energy  and  pos- 
sion,  and  all  except  generous  little  Henderson  were  awed 
by  it  into  silence.  But  Henderson  at  that  moment  was 
wholly  absorbed  in  Walter's  sorrows. 

"  Tell  him,"  said  he  in  Walter's  ear,  "  tell  him  it  was  all 
a  mistake,  that  you  thought  the  papers  were  old  exercises. 
Dear  Walter,  tell  him  before  he  goes." 

But  Walter  still  rested  with  his  white  cheeks  on  hia 
hands  upon  the  desk,  and  neither  moved  nor  spoke.  And 
Mr.  Percival,  turning  indignantly  upon  his  heel,  with  one 
last  glance  of  unmitigated  contempt,  had  walked  off  to  hia 
own  form. 

"  Walter,  don't  take  it  to  heart  so,"  said  Henderson 


ALONE    WITH    KEMOESE.  73 

putting  Ills  arm  round  his  neck  ;  "  you  couldn't  help  it ; 
you  made  a  sad  mistake,  that's  all.  Go  and  tell  l'aton  so, 
and  I'm  sure  he'll  forgive  you." 

A  slight  quiver  was  all  that  showed  that  Walter  heard 
Henderson  would  have  liked  to  see  his  anguish  relieved  by 
a  burst  of  tears  ;  but  the  tears  did  not  come,  and  Walter 
did  not  move. 

At  last  a  hand  touched  him,  and  he  heard  the  voice  of 
the  head-boy  say  to  him,  "  Get  up,  Bvson,  I'm  to  take  you 
to  Dr.  Lane  with  a  note  from  Mr.  Percival." 

He  rose  and  followed  mechanically,  waiting  in  the  head- 
master's porch,  while  the  monitor  went  in. 

"  Dr.  Lane  won't  see  you  now,"  said  Seiners,  coming  out 
again.  "Croft"  (addressing  the  school  Famulus),  "Dr. 
Lane  says  you're  to  lock  up  Mr.  Evson  by  himself  in  the 
private  room." 

Walter  followed  the  Famulus  to  the  private  room,  a  lit- 
tle room  at  the  top  of  the  house,  where  he  knew  that  boys 
were  locked  previous  to  expulsion,  that  they  might  have  no 
opportunity  for  doing  any  mischief  before  they  went. 

The  Famulus  left  him  here,  and  returned  a  few  minutes 
after  with  some  dry  bread  and  milk,  which  he  placed  on 
the  deal  table,  which,  with  a  wooden  chair,  constituted  the 
sole  furniture  of  the  room  ;  he  then  locked  the  door,  and 
left  Walter  finally  to  his  own  reflections. 

Then  it  was  that  flood  after  flood  of  passionate  tears 
seemed  to  remove  the  iron  cramp  which  had  pained  his 
heart.  He  flung  himself  on  the  floor,  and  as  he  thought 
of  the  irreparable  cruelty  which  he  had  inflicted  on  a  mai- 
who  had  beou  severe  indeed,  but  never  unkind  to  him,  and 
of  the  apparent  malignity  to  which  all  who  heard  it  would 
attribute  what  he  had  done,  he  sobbed  and  sobbed  as 
though  his  heart  would  break. 

At  one  o'clock  the  Famulus  returned  with  some  dinner 

4 


T4  kenrick's  note. 

He  foimd  Walter  sitting  at  a  corner  of  the  room,  his  head 
resting  against  the  angle  of  the  wall,  and  his  eyes  red  and 
inflamed  with  long  crying.  The  morning's  meal  still  lay 
uutasted  on  the  table. 

He  looked  round  with  a  commiserating  glance.  "  Comt, 
come,  Master  Evson,"  he  said,  "  you've  no  call  to  give  way 
so,  sir.  If  you've  done  wrong,  the  wrong's  done  now,  and 
frettin'  wont  help  it.  There's  them  above  as'll  forgive  you, 
and  make  you  do  better  next  time,  lad,  if  you  only  knew 
it.  Here,  you  must  eat  some  of  this  dinner,  Master 
Evson,  and  leave  off  cryin'  so  ;  cryin'  's  no  comfort,  sir." 

He  stood  by  and  waited  on  Walter  with  the  greatest 
kindness  and  respect,  till  he  had  seen  him  swallow  some 
food,  not  without  difficulty,  and  then  with  encouraging  and 
cheerful  words  left  him,  and  once  more  locked  the  door. 

The  weary  afternoon  wore  on,  and  Walter  sat  mourn- 
fully alone  with  nothing  but  miserable  thoughts — miserable 
to  whatever  subject  he  turned  them,  and  more  miserable 
the  longer  he  dwelt  on  them.  As  the  shades  of  evening 
drew  in,  he  feit  his  head  swimming,  and  the  long  solitude 
made  him  feel  afraid  as  he  wondered  whether  they  would 
leave  him  there  all  night.  And  then  he  heard  a  light  step 
approach  the  door,  and  a  gentle  tap.  He  made  no  answer, 
for  he  thought  he  knew  the  step,  and  he  could  not  summon 
up  voice  to  speak  for  a  lit  of  sobbing  which  it  brought  on. 
Then  he  heard  the  boy  stoop  down,  and  push  a  note  under 
the  door. 

He  took  it  up  when  he  heard  the  footsteps  die  away,  and 
by  the  fast  failing  light  was  just  able  to  make  it  out.  It 
ran  thus  : 

"  Dear  Walter — You  can't  think  how  sorry,  how  very; 
very  sorry  I  am  for  you.  I  wish  I  could  be  with  you  and 
take  part  of  your  punishment.     Forgive  me  for  being  coid 


PITILESS.  75 

fcnd  proud  to  you.  I  have  been  longing  to  speak  to  you 
all  the  time,  but  felt  too  shy.  It  was  all  my  fault.  I  will 
never  break  with  you  again.  Good  bye,  dear  Walter,  from 
your  ever  and  truly  affectionate, 

"  Harry  Kenrick." 

"  He  will  never  break  with  me  again,"  thought  Walter. 
"  If  I'm  to  go  to-morrow  I'm  afraid  he'll  never  have  the 
chance."  And  then  his  saddest  thoughts  reverted  to  the 
home  which  he  had  left  so  recently  for  the  first  time,  and 
to  which  he  was  to  return  with  nothing  but  dishonor  and 
disgrace. 

At  six  o'clock  the  kind-hearted  Famulus  brought  him  a 
lamp,  some  tea,  and  one  or  two  books,  which  he  had  no 
heart  to  read.  No  one  was  allowed  to  visit  the  private 
room  under  heavy  penalties,  so  that  Walter  had  no  other 
visitor  until  eight,  when  Somers,  the  monitor  who  had 
taken  him  to  Dr.  Lane,  looked  in  and  icily  observed, 
"  You're  to  sleep  in  the  sick-room,  Evson  ;  come  with  me." 

"  Am  I  expelled,  Somers  ?"  he  faltered  out. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Somers  in  a  freezing  tone  ;  "  you 
deserve  to  be.  At  any  rate,  I  for  one  won't  have  you  as 
a  fag  any  longer,  and  I  shouldn't  think  that  any  one  else 
would  either." 

With  which  cutting  remark  he  left  Waltei  to  his  re 
flections. 


CHAPTER  THE   NINTH. 

PENITENCE. 

\  TEXT  morning  Walter  was  reconducted  to  the  privatt 
\  room,  and  there,  with  a  kind  of  dull  paiu  in  head 
■*- '  and  heart,  awaited  the  sentence  which  was  to  decide 
his  fate.  His  fancy  had  left  St.  Winifred's  altogether  ;  it 
was  solely  occupied  with  Sernlyn,  and  the  dear  society  of 
home.  Walter  was  rehearsing  again  and  again  in  his  mind 
the  scene  of  his  return  ;  what  he  should  say  to  his  father  ; 
how  he  should  dry  his  mother's  tears  ;  and  how  he  should 
bear  himself,  on  his  return,  towards  his  little  brothers  and 
sisters.  Would  he,  expelled  from  St.  Winifred's,  ever  be 
able  to  look  any  one  in  the  face  again  at  home  ? 

While  he  was  brooding  over  these  fancies,  some  one, 
breathless  with  haste,  ran  up  to  his  room,  and  again  a  note 
was  thrust  underneath  the  door.  He  seized  it  quickly,  and 
read — 

"  Dear  Walter — I  am  so  glad  to  be  the  first  to  tell  you 
that  you  are  not  to  be  expelled.  Paton  has  begged  you 
off.  No  time  for  more.  I  have  slipped  away  before  morn- 
ing school  to  leave  you  this  news,  and  can't  stay  lest  T 
should  be  caught.  Good  bye,  from  your  ever  affectionate 
friend,  H.  K.» 

The  boy's  heart  gave  one  bound  of  joy  as  he  read  this. 
If  he  were  not  expelled  he  was  ready  to  bear  meekly  any 
oilier  punishment  appointed  to  his  offence.  But  his  ban 
aliment   from   the   school  would  cause  deep  affliction  to 


FACE   TO    FACE.  77 

Others  besides  himself,  and  this  was  why  he  had  dreaded  it 
with  such  a  feeling  of  despair. 

Alone  as  he  was  in  the  little  room,  he  fell  on  his  knees, 
and  heartily  and  humbly  thanked  God  for  this  answer  to 
his  earnest,  passionate,  reiterated  prayer  ;  and  then  he  read 
Kenrick's  note  agaiu. 

"  Paton  has  begged  you  off."  He  repeated  this  sen 
teuce  over  and  over  again,  aloud  and  to  himself,  and 
seemed  as  if  he  could  never  realise  it.  Paton — Paton, 
the  very  man  whom  he  had  so  deeply  and  irreparably  in- 
jured— had  begged  him  off,  and  shielded  him  from  a  pun- 
ishment which  no  one  could  have  considered  too  severe  for 
his  fault.  Young  and  inexperienced  as  Walter  Evson  was, 
he  could  not  of  course  fully  understand  and  appreciate  the 
amount  of  the  loss,  the  nature  and  degree  of  the  injury 
which  he  had  inflicted  ;  but  yet,  he  could  understand  that 
he  had  done  something  which  caused  greater  pain  to  his 
master  than  even  the  breaking  of  a  limb,  or  falling  ill  of  a 
severe  sickness.  And  he  prayed  for  himself,  praying  also 
that  Mr.  Paton's  misfortune  might  in  some  way  be  allevi- 
ated ;  and  that  he,  Walter,  might  himself  have  some  share 
in  rendering  it  more  endurable. 

What  had  been  done  could  never  be  undone.  And 
"  Paton  had  begged  him  off."  It  was  all  the  more  won- 
erful  to  him,  and  he  was  all  the  more  deeply  grateful  for 
t,  because  he  knew  that,  in  Mr.  Paton's  views,  the  law  of 
punishment  for  every  offence  was  as  a  law  of  iron  and  ada- 
mant. 

A  slow  and  hesitating  footstep — the  sound  of  the  key 
turning  in  the  door — a  nervous  hand  resting  on  the  handle — 
tnd  Mr.  Paton  stood  before  him. 

In  an  instant  Walter  was  on  his  knees  beside  him,  his 
Head  bent  over  his  clasped  hands  ;  "  Oh,  sir,"  he  exclaimed, 
'*  please  forgive  me  ;  I  have  been  longing  to  see  you,  sir, 


'(&  ".NEQUE    DIYFINGET 

to  implore  you  to  forgive  me  ;  for  when  yoa  have  forgiven 
me  I  shan't  mind  any  tiling  else.  Oh,  sir,  forgive  me,  if  you 
can." 

"  Do  you  know,  Evson,  the  extent  of  what  you  hava 
done  ?"  said  Mr.  Paton  in  a  constrained  voice. 

"  0  sir,  indeed  I  do,"  he  exclaimed,  bursting  into  tears  : 
"  Mr.  Percival  said  I  had  destroyed  years  and  years  of 
hard  work  ;  and  that  I  can  never,  never,  never  make  up 
for  it,  or  repair  it  again.  0  sir,  indeed  I  didn't  know  how 
much  mischief  I  was  doing  ;  I  was  in  a  wicked  passion 
then,  but  I  would  give  my  right  hand  not  to  have  done  it 
now.  0  sir,  can  you  ever  forgive  me  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  tone 
of  pitiable  despair. 

''  Have  you  asked  God's  forgiveness  for  your  passionate 
and  revengeful  spirit,  Evson  ?"  said  the  same  constrained 
voice. 

"  O  sir,  I  have,  and  I  know  God  has  forgiven  me.  In- 
deed, I  never  knew,  I  never  thought  before,  that  I  could 
grow  so  wicked  in  a  day.  0  sir,  what  shall  I  do  to  gain 
your  forgiveness  ;  I  would  do  anything,  sir,"  he  said  in  a 
voice  thick  with  sobs  ;  "  and  if  you  forgave  me,  I  could  be 
almost  happy." 

All  this  while  Walter  had  not  dared  to  look  up  in  Mr. 
Paton's  face.  Abashed  as  he  was,  he  could  not  bear  to 
meet  the  only  look  which  he  expected  to  find  there,  the  old 
cold  uupitying  look  of  condemnation  and  reproach. 

He  dared  not  look  up  through  his  eyes  swimming  with 
tears  ;  but  he  had  not  expected  the  kind  and  gentle  touch 
of  the  trembling  hand  that  rested  on  his  head  as  though  h, 
blessed  him,  and  that  smoothed  again  and  again  his  dark 
hair,  and  wiped  the  big  drops  away  from  his  cheeks.  Ho 
aad  not  expected  the  arm  that  raised  him  up  from  his  kneel- 
ing position,  and  the  fingers  that  pushed  back  his  hair  from 
'lis  forehead,  and  gently  bent  back  his  head  ;  or  the  pitying 


INFECTUMQLK    KKDDET."  79 

3yes.  themselves  dim,  as  though  they  were  about  to  well 
Dver  with  compassion — that  looked  so  sorrowfully,  yet  so 
kindly  iuto  his  own.  He  could  not  bear  this.  If  Mr.  Pa- 
ton  had  struck  him,  as  he  did  in  the  first  moment  of  over- 
whelming anger  ;  if  lie  had  spurned  him  away,  and  ordered 
him  any  amount  of  punishment,  it  would  have  been  far 
easier  to  bear  than  this  Christian  gentleness  ;  this  ready 
burying  in  pity  and  oblivion  of  the  heaviest  and  most  un- 
deserved calamity  which  the  master  had  ever  undergone  at 
the  hands  of  man.  Walter  could  not  bear  it ;  he  flung 
himself  on  his  knees  again  in  a  passion  of  weeping,  and 
clasped  Mr.  Paton's  knees,  uttering  in  broken  sentences,  "  I 
can  never  make  up  for  it,  never  repair  it  as  long  as  I  live." 

For  a  moment  more  the  kind  hand  again  rested  on  the 
boy's  head,  and  gently  smoothed  his  dark  hair  ;  and  then 
Mr.  Paton  found  voice  to  speak,  and  lifting  him  up,  and 
seating  him  upon  his  knee,  said  to  him — ■ 

"  I  forgive  you,  Walter  ;  forgive  you  freely  and  gladly. 
it  was  hard,  I  own,  at  first  to  do  so,  for  I  will  not  disguise 
from  you  that  this  loss  is  a  very  bitter  thing  to  bear.  I 
have  been  sleepless,  and  have  never  once  been  able  to 
banish  the  distress  of  mind  which  it  has  caused  since  it  oc- 
curred. And  yet  it  is  a  loss  which  I  shall  not  feel  fully  all 
at  once,  but  most  and  for  many  a  long  day  when  I  sit. 
down  again,  if  God  gives  me  strength  to  do  so,  to  recover 
the  lost  stores  and  rearrange  the  interrupted  thoughts. 
But  I  too  have  learnt  a  lesson,  Walter  ;  and  when  yoa 
have  reached  my  age,  my  boy,  you  too,  I  trust,  will  have 
learnt  to  control  all  evil  passions  with  a  strong  will,  and  to 
bear  meekly  and  patiently  whatever  God  sends.  And  you 
>oo,  Walter,  learn  a  lesson.  You  have  said  that  you 
would  give  anything,  do  anything,  to  undo  this  wrong,  or 
to  repair  it  ;  but  you  can  do  nothing,  my  child,  give 
nothing,  for  it  canuot  be  undone.     Wrong  rarely  can  b« 


SO  FORGIVENESS. 

mended.  Let  this  very  helplessness  teach  yo-i  a  truth  that 
may  remain  with  you  through  life.  Let  it  ch(  ck  you  in 
wilful  impetuous  moments  ;  for  what  lias  once  been  done 
remains  irrevocable.  You  may  rue  for  years  and  years 
the  work  of  days  or  of  moments,  and  you  may  never  be 
able  to  avoid  the  consequences,  even  when  the  deed  itself 
has  been  forgotten  by  the  generous  and  forgiven  by  the 
just." 

A  nd  all  this  so  kindly,  so  gently,  so  quietly  spokeu ; 
every  word  of  it  sank  into  Walter's  heart  never  to  be  for- 
gotten, as  his  tears  flowed  still  but  with  more  quiet  sadness 
now. 

"  Yes,  Walter,  this  occurrence,"  continued  Mr.  Paton  in 
a  calm  low  voice,  "  may  do  us  both  good,  miserable  as  it 
is.  I  will  say  no  more  about  it  now,  only  that  I  have 
quite  forgiven  it.  Man  is  far  too  mean  a  creature  to  be 
justified  in  withholding  forgiveness  for  any  personal  wrong. 
It  is  far  more  hard  to  forgive  one's-self  when  one  has  done 
wrong.  I  have  determined  to  bury  the  whole  matter  in 
oblivion,  and  to  inflict  no  punishment  either  on  you  or  on 
any  of  the  other  boys  who  were  concerned  in  this  folly  and 
bin.  I  will  not  forgive  by  halves.  But,  Walter,  I  will  not 
wrong  you  by  doubting  that  from  this  time  forward  you 
will  advance  with  a  marked  improvement.  You  will  have 
something  to  bear,  no  doubt,  but  do  not  let  it  weigh  on 
you  too  heavily  ;  and  as  for  me,  I  will  try  henceforth  to  be 
your  friend." 

What  could  Walter  do  but  seize  his  hand  and  clasp  it 
earnestly,  and  sob  out  the  broken  incoherent  thanks  wkbh 
were  more  eloquent  than  connected  words. 

"And   now,  Walter,  you   are   free."  said   Mr.  Paton 
"  From  us  you  will  hear  no  more  of  this  offence.     It  is 
nearly  dinner  time.     Come  ;  I  will  walk  with  you  to  hall." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  and  they  walked 


CNPITIED.  81 

down  stairs  and  across  the  court.  Walter  was  deeply 
grateful  that  he  did  so,  for  he  had  heard  rumors  of  the 
scorn  and  indignation  with  which  the  news  of  his  conduct 
had  been  received  by  the  elder  and  more  influential  portions 
of  the  school.  He  had  dreaded  unspeakably  the  first  oc- 
casion when  it  would  be  necessary  to  meet  them  again,  but  he 
felt  that  Mr.  Paton's  countenance  and  kindness  had  paved 
the  way  for  him,  and  smoothed  his  most  formidable  trial.  It 
had  been  beyond  his  wannest  hopes  that  he  should  be  able 
to  face  them  so.  He  had  never  dared  to  expect  this  open 
proof,  that  the  person  who  had  suffered  chiefly  from  his  act 
would  also  be  the  first  to  show  that  he  had  not  cast  him 
off  as  hopeless  or  worthless,  but  was  ready  to  receive  him 
into  favor  once  again. 

The  corridor  was  full  of  boys  waiting  for  the  dinner  bell, 
and  they  divided  respectfully  to  leave  a  passage  for  Mr. 
Paton,  and  touched  their  hats  as  he  passed  them  with  his 
hand  still  on  Walter's  shoulder,  while  Walter  walked  with 
downcast  eyes  beside  him,  not  once  daring  to  look  up.  And 
as  the  boy  passed  them,  humbled  and  penitent,  with  Mr. 
Paton's  hand  resting  upon  him,  there  was  not  one  of  those 
who  saw  it  that  did  not  learn  from  that  sight  a  lesson  of 
calm  forgiveness  as  noble  and  as  forcible  as  any  lesson  which 
they  could  learn  at  St.  Winifred's  school. 

Walter  sat  at  dinner,  pale  and  crying,  but  unpitied.  The 
worst  construction  had  assiduously  been  put  upon  what  he 
had  done,  and  nearly  all  the  boys  hastily  condemned  it,  as 
an  inexcusable  and  unpardonable  act.  One  after  another, 
as  they  passed  him  after  dinner,  they  cut  him  dead.  Seve- 
ral of  the  masters,  including  Mr.  Percival,  whom  Walter 
had  hitherto  loved  and  respected  more  than  any  of  them. 
because  he  had  been  treated  by  him  with  marked  kindness, 
did  the  same.  Walter  met  Mr.  Percival  in  the  playground 
and  touched  his  cap  ;  Mr.  Percival  glanced  at  him   con 

4* 


32  DARK    DAYS. 

tempt uously  for  a  moment,  and  the:',  turned  his  head  aside 
without  noticing  the  salute.  All  that  any  one  took  the 
trouble  to  know  or  to  believe  about  Walter's  scrape  was, 
that  he  had  broken  open  a  master's  private  desk,  and  in 
revenge  had  purposely  burnt  a  most  valuable  manuscript ; 
f.nd  for  this,  sentence  was  passed  upon  him  broadly  and  in 
the  gross. 

Poor  Walter  1  those  were  dark  days  for  him  ;  but  Hen- 
derson and  Kenriek  stuck  fast  by  him,  and  little  Arthur 
Eden  still  looked  up  to  him  with  unbounded  gratitude  and 
affection,  and  he  felt  that  the  case  was  not  hopeless.  Ken- 
rick,  indeed,  seemed  to  waver  once  or  twice.  He  sought 
Walter  and  shook  hands  with  him  at  once,  but  still  he  was 
uot  with  him,  Walter  fancied,  so  much  as  he  had  been  or 
might  have  been,  till,  after  a  short  struggle,  his  natural 
impulse  of  generosity  won  the  day.  As  for  Henderson, 
Walter  thought  he  could  have  died  for  him,  so  much  he 
loved  him  for  his  kindness  in  this  hour  of  need  ;  and  Edeu 
never  left  his  side  when  he  could  creep  there  to  console 
him  by  merry  playfulness,  or  to  be  his  companion  when  he 
would  otherwise  have  been  alone. 

The  boys  had  been  truly  sorry  to  hear  of  Mr.  Paton's 
loss  ;  it  roused  all  their  most  generous  feelings.  That 
evening,  as  they  came  out  of  chapel,  they  all  gathered  round 
the  iron  gates.  The  intention  had  been  to  groan  at  poor 
Walter.  He  knew  of  it  perfectly  well,  for  Henderson  had 
prepared  him  lor  it,  and  expressed  his  determination  to 
walk  by  his  side.  It  was  for  him  a  moment  of  keen  an- 
guish, and  that  anguish  betrayed  itself  in  his  scared  and 
Agitated  look.  But  he  was  spared  this  last  drop  in  the 
cup  of  punishment.  The  mere  sight  f  him  showed  the 
boys  that  he  had  suffered  bitterly  enough  already.  When 
they  looked  at  him,  they  had  not  the  heart  to  hurt  and 
aha  me  him  any  more.    Mr.  Pa  ton's  open  forgiveness  of  thai 


THE    INTERVIEW.  83 

which  had  fallen  most  severely  on  himself  changed  the  cur- 
rent of  their  feelings.  Instead  of  groaning  Walter  they 
let  him  pass  by,  and  waited  till  Mr.  Patou  came  out  of  the 
chapel  door,  and,  as  he  walked  across  the  court,  the  boys 
all  followed  him  with  hearty  cheers. 

Mr.  Paton  did  not  like  the  demonstration,  although  he 
appreciated  the  kindly  and  honorable  motives  which  had 
given  rise  to  it.  He  was  not  a  man  who  courted  popular- 
ity, and  this  external  sign  of  it  was,  as  he  well  knew,  the 
irregular  expression  of  an  evanescent  feeling.  So  he  took 
no  further  notice  of  the  boys'  cheers  than  by  slightly  rais- 
ing his  cap,  and  by  one  stately  inclination  of  the  head,  and 
then  he  walked  on,  with  his  usual  quiet  dignity  of  manner, 
to  his  own  rooms.  But  after  this,  he  every  now  and  then 
took  an  opportunity  to  walk  with  Walter  ;  and  almost 
every  Sunday  evening  he  might  have  been  seen  with  him 
pacing,  after  morning  chapel,  up  and  down  the  broad  walk 
of  the  masters'  garden,  while  Walter  walked  unevenly  be- 
side him,  in  vain  endeavors  to  keep  step  with  his  long  slow 
stride. 

A  letter  from  Dr.  Lane  brought  Walter's  father  to  St. 
Winifred's  the  next  day.  Why  dwell  on  their  sad  and 
painful  meetiug  ?  But  the  pain  of  it  soon  wore  off  as  they 
interchanged  that  sweet  and  frank  communion  of  thoughts 
and  sympathies  that  still  existed  as  it  had  ever  done,  be- 
tween them.  They  had  a  long,  long  walk  upon  the  shore, 
aud  at  every  step  Walter  seemed  to  inbreathe  fresh  strength, 
and  hope,  and  consolation,  and  Mr.  Evson  seemed  to  ac- 
quire new  love  for,  and  confidence  in,  his  unhappy  little 
son  ;  so  that  when  in  the  evening  he  kissed  him  and  said 
"goodbye,"  at  the  top  of  the  same  little  hill  where  they 
had  parted  before,  Mr.  Evson  felt  more  happily  and  grate- 
fully secure  of  his  radical  integrity,  now  that  the  boy  had 
acquired  the  strength  which  conies  through  trial,  through 


64  mk.  r axon's 

failure,  and  through  suffering,  than  he  had  done  before 
when  lie  left  him  only  with  the  strength  of  early  principle 
and  untested  innocence  of  heart. 

But  long  years  after,  when  Walter  was  a  man,  and  when 
he  had  been  separated  for  years  from  all  intelligence  of  Mr 
Paton,  there  emanated  from  a  quiet  country  vicarage  a 
now  celebrated  edition  of  the  "  Major  Prophets" — an  edi- 
tion which  made  the  author  a  high  reputation,  and  secured 

for  him  in  the  following  year  the  Deanery  of .     Ana 

in  the  preface  of  that  edition  the  reader  may  still  find  the 
following  passage,  which,  as  Walter  saw  even  then,  those 
long  years  after,  he  could  not  read  without  a  thrill  of 
happy,  yet  penitent  emotion.     It  ran  thus  : 

"This  edition  of  the  'Major  Prophets'  has  been  the 
chosen  work  of  the  author's  leisure,  and  he  is  almost  afraid 
to  say  how  many  of  the  best  years  of  his  life  have  been 
spent  upon  it.  A  strange  fortune  has  happened  to  it. 
Years  ago  it  was  finished;  it  was  written  out,  and  ready  for 
the  press.  At  that  time  it  was  burnt — no  matter  under 
what  circumstances — by  a  boy's  hand.  At  first,  the  au- 
thor never  hoped  to  have  the  courage  or  power  to  resume 
and  finish  the  task  again.  But  it  pleased  God,  who  sent 
him  this  trial,  to  provide  him  also  with  leisure,  and  oppor- 
tunity, and  resolution,  so  that  the  old  misfortune  is  now  at 
last  repaired.  It  is  for  the  sake  of  one  person,  and  one 
person  only,  that  these  private  matters  are  intruded  on  the 
reader's  notice  ;  but  that  person,  if  his  eye  should  ever  fall 
on  these  lines,  will  know  also  why  the  word  'repaired'  has 
been  printed  in  larger  letters.  And  I  would  also  tell  him, 
with  all  kindness,  that  it  has  pleased  God  to  bring  out  of 
the  rash  act  of  his  boyhood  nothing  but  good.  The  follow- 
ing commentary  is,  I  humbly  trust,  far  more  worthy  of  its 
high  subject,  now  that  it  has  received  the  maturer  consider- 
ation of  my  advancing  years,  than  it  would  have  been  had 


PKKFAUE.  85 

it  seen  tlie  light  at  St.  Winifred's  long  ago.  I  write  this 
for  the  sake  of  the  boy  who  then  wept  for  what  seemed  an 
irreparable  fault  ;  and  I  add  thankfully,  that  never  for  a 
ELoment  have  J  retracted  nry  then'  forgiveness;  that  I  think 
af  his  after  efforts  with  kindliness  and  affection  ;  and  that 
he  has,  and  always  will  have,  my  best  prayers  for  his  inte- 
rest and  welfare.  "  H.  Paton  " 


CHArTER   THE   TENTH 

UPHILLWARDS. 

WALTER  said  nothing  to  exculpate  his  conduct,  ortc 
shield  himself  from  the  silent  indignation,  half  real 
and   half-affected,  which  weighed  heavily  against 
him. 

The  usual  consequences  followed  ;  the  story  of  his  misdo- 
ing was  repeated  and  believed  in  the  least  mitigated  form, 
and  this  version  gained  credence  and  currency  because  it 
was  uncontradicted.  The  school  society  bound  his  sin  upon 
him  ;  they  retained  it,  and  it  was  retained.  It  burdened 
his  conscience  with  a  galling  weight.  He  had  not  only 
lost  all  immediate  influence,  but  as  he  looked  forward 
through  the  vista  of  his  school  life,  he  feared  that  he  should 
never  entirely  regain  it.  Even  if  he  should  in  time  become 
a  monitor,  he  felt  as  if  half  his  authority  must  be  lost  while 
this  stigma  was  branded  so  deeply  on  his  name. 

Yet  it  was  a  beautiful  sight  to  see  how  bravely  and 
manfully  this  young  boy  set  himself  to  reestablish  the  re- 
putation he  had  destroyed  ;  to  see  with  what  touching 
humility  he  accepted  undeserved  scoru,  and  with  what 
touching  gratitude  he  hailed  the  scantiest  kindness  ;  to  see 
now  he  bore  up  unflinchingly  under  every  difficulty,  ac- 
cepted his  hard  position  among  unsympathiziug  schoolfel- 
lows, and  made  the  most  of  it,  without  anger  and  without 
complaint. 

Perhaps  the  strain  would  have  been  too  great  for  his 
youthful  spirits,  and  might  have  left  on  Lis  character  an 
impress  of  permanent  melancholy,  derived  *rom  thus  being 


YEAK8    WHICH    THE    LOCDST    HATH    EATEN.  87 

perpetually  reminded  that  he  had  gone  wrong,  but  for  a 
school  sermon  which  Mr.  Paton  preached  about  this  time, 
and  which  Walter  felt  was  meant  in  part  for  him.     It  was 
on  the  danger  and  unwisdom  of  brooding  continually  on 
what  is  over  ;  and  it  was  preached  upon  the  text,  "I  will 
restore  to  you  the  years  which  the  locust  hath  eaten,  the 
canker-worm,  the    caterpillar,  and    the  palmer-worm,   my 
great  army."     "  The  past  is  past,"  said  the  preacher  ;  "  its 
sins   and  sorrows  are  irrevocably  over  ;  why  dwell  upon 
it  now  ?     Do  not  waste  the  present,  with  all  its  opportu- 
nities, in  a  hopeless  and  helpless  retrospect.     The  worst  of 
us  need  not  despair,  much  less  those  who  may  have  been 
betrayed  into  sudden  error  by  some  moment  of  unguarded 
passion.     There  lies  the  future  before  you  ; — onwards  then, 
and  forwards  !  it  is  yet  an  innocent,  it  may  be  a  happy 
future.     Take  it  with  prayerful  thankfulness,  and  fling  the 
withered  part  aside.     Thus,  although  thus  only,  can  you 
recover  your  neglected  opportunities.     Do  this  in  hope  and 
meekness,  and  God  will  make  up  to  you  for  the  lost  past  ; 
He  who  inhabiteth  eternity  will  stretch  forth  out  of  His 
eternity  a  forgiving  hand,  and  touch  into  green  leaf  again 
the  years  which  the  locust  hath  eaten  "     How  eager  Wal 
tcr  Evson  drank  in  those  words  1     That  day  at  least  he  felt 
that  man  doth  not  live  by  bread  alone,  but  by  every  word 
that  proceedeth  out  of  the  mouth  of  God. 

If  Walter  had  been  old  enough  to  be  an  observer  of 
character,  he  might  have  gathered  out  of  his  difficulties  the 
materials  for  some  curious  observation  on  the  manner  in 
which  he  was  treated  by  different  boys.  Many,  like  H/ir 
pour  and  Cradock,  made,  of  course,  no  sort  of  difference 
si  their  behavior  towards  him,  because  they  set  up  no  pre- 
tence of  condemnation  ;  others,  like  Anthony  and  Frank- 
lin, had  been  nearly  as  bad  as  himself  in  the  matter,  and 
therefore  their  relations  to  him  remained  quite  unaltered. 


88  REGINALD    POWKR. 

But  there  were  many  boys  who,  like  Jones,  cither  cut  him 
or  were  cold  to  him,  because  he  was,  for  the  time,  unpop- 
ular, aud  they  did  not  care  to  be  seen  with  an  unpopular 
boy.  On  the  other  hand,  through  a  feeling,  which  at  the 
time  they  could  not  understand,  a  few  of  the  very  best 
boys,  some  of  the  wisest,  the  steadiest,  and  noblest,  seemed 
drawn  to  him  by  some  new  tie  ;  and  in  a  very  short  time 
he  began  to  know  friends  among  them  in  whose  way  he 
might  not  otherwise  have  been  thrown.  Daubeny,  for  in- 
stance, sought  Walter  out  on  every  possible  occasion,  and 
when  they  were  alone  spoke  to  him,  in  his  gentle  and  hon- 
est way,  many  a  cheering  and  kindly  word.  Another  friend 
of  this  sort  (whom  Walter  already  knew  slightly  through 
Kenrick,  who  was  in  the  form  below  him)  was  a  boy  named 
Power.  There  was  something  in  Power  most  attractive  ; 
his  clear  eyes,  and  innocent  expression  of  face,  his  unvary- 
ing success  in  all  school  competitions,  his  quiet  and  graceful 
maimers,  and  even  the  coldness  aud  reserve  which  made 
him  stand  somewhat  aloof  from  the  herd  of  boys,  mixing 
with  very  few  of  them,  firmly  and  unobtrusively  assuming 
an  altogether  higher  tone  than  theirs,  and  bestowing  his 
confidence  and  friendship  on  hardly  any — all  tended  tu 
make  him  a  marked  character,  and  to  confer  on  his  inti- 
macy an  unusual  value.  Walter,  to  whom  as  yet  he  had 
hardly  spoken,  thought  him  self-centered  and  reserved,  and 
yet  saw  something  beautiful  and  fascinating  even  in  his 
exclusiveness  ;  he  felt  that  he  could  have  liked  him  much, 
but,  as  he  was  several  forms  lower  than  Power,  never  ex- 
pected to  become  one  of  his  few  associates.  But  during 
his  troubles  Power  so  openly  showed  that  he  regarded  him 
with  respect  and  kindness,  and  was  so  clearly  the  first  to 
make  advances,  that  Walter  gladly  and  gratefully  accepted 
the  proffered  friendship. 
It  haDDened  thus  :  One  day,  about  a  fortnight  after  hi* 


ON    THE    WANDS.  89 

last  escapade,  Walter  was  amusing  himself  alone,  as  he 
often  did,  upon  the  shore.  The  shore  was  very  dear  to 
nim.  I  almost  pity  a  boy  whose  school  is  not  by  the  sea- 
Bide.  He  found  on  the  shore  both  companionship  and  oc- 
cupation. He  never  felt  lonely  there,  ne  could  sit  there 
by  the  hour,  either  in  calm  or  storm,  watching  the  sea-birds 
dip  their  wings  which  flashed  in  the  sunlight,  as  they 
pounced  down  on  some  unwary  fish  ;  or  listening  to  the 
silken  rustle  and  sweet  monotony  of  the  waves  plashing  mu- 
sically upon  the  yellow  sands  on  some  fine  day.  On  this 
evening  the  tide  was  coming  in,  and  Walter  had  amused 
himself  by  standing  on  some  of  the  lumps  of  granite  tossed 
about  the  shore  until  the  advancing  waves  encroached  upon 
and  surrounded  his  little  island,  and  gave  him  just  room  to 
jump  to  land.  He  was  standing  on  one  of  these  great 
stones,  watching  the  sunset  and  laughing  to  himself  at  the 
odd  gambols  of  two  or  three  porpoises  that  kept  rolling 
about  in  a  futile  manner  across  the  little  bay,  when  he  heard 
a  pleasant  voice  say  to  him — 

"  I  say,  Evson,  are  you  going  to  practise  the  old  stylo 
of  martyrdom — tie  yourself  to  a  stake  and  let  the  tide  gra- 
dually drown  you  ?" 

Looking  round,  he  was  surprised  to  see  Power  standing 
alone  on  the  sands,  and  to  see  also  that  his  little  island  was 
so  far  surrounded  that  he  could  not  get  to  shore  without 
being  wet  up  to  the  knees. 

"  Hallo  !"  he  said,  "  I  see  I  must  take  off  my  shoes  and 
stockings,  and  wade." 

But  on  the  slippery  piece  of  rock  upon  which  he  was 
standing  he  had  no  room  to  do  this  without  losing  his  ba- 
lance and  tumbling  over  ;  so  Power  had  in  a  moment  taken 
off  his  own  shoes  and  stockings,  turned  up  his  trousers 
above  the  knees,  and  waded  up  to  him. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "get  on  my  back,  and  I'll  ?arry  vou 
in  unwetted." 


9(.  A    NEW    FRIEND. 

"  Thanks,  Power,"  lie  said,  as  Power  deposited  hiui  on 
the  sand  ;  "  I'm  much  obliged." 

Not  knowing  whether  Power  would  like  to  be  seen  with 
•n'm  or  not,  he  looked  at  him  shyly,  and  was  walking  off  in 
another  direction,  when  Power,  who  was  putting  on  his 
stockings  again,  said  to  him  playfully  : 

"  What,  Walter  ;  haven't  you  the  grace  to  wait  for  me, 
after  my  having  delivered  you  from  such  a  noyade  ?  Ex- 
cuse my  calling  you  Walter  ;  I  hear  Kenrick  and  Hender- 
son do  it,  and  somehow  you're  one  of  those  fellows  whom 
one  meets  now  and  then,  whose  Christian  name  seems  to 
suit  them  more  naturally  than  the  other." 

"  By  all  means  call  me  Walter,  Power  ;  and  I'll  wait 
for  you  gladly  if  you  like,"  said  Walter,  blushing  as  he 
added,  "  I  thought  you  might  not  like  to  walk  with  me." 

"  Not  like  ?  Nonsense.  I  should  like  it  particularly. 
Let's  take  a  turn  along  the  shore  ;  we  shall  just  have 
time  before  roll-call." 

Walter  pointed  out  to  him  the  droll  porpoises  which 
had  absorbed  his  attention,  and  while  they  stood  looking 
and  laughing  at  them,  Henderson  came  up  unobserved,  and 
patting  Walter  on  the  back,  observed  poetically  : 

"  Why  are  your  young  hearts  sad,  oh  beautiful  children  of  morning! 
Why  do  your  young  eyes  gaze  timidly  over  the  sea  ?" 

"Where  did  you  crib  that  quotation  from,  Flip?"  asked 
Power,  laughing.  "Your  mind's  like  a  shallow  brook, 
and  the  color  of  it  always  shows  the  stratum  through  which 
you  have  been  flowing  last." 

"  Shallow  brook,  quotha  ?"  said  Henderson  ;  "  a  deep 
and  mighty  river,  sir,  you  menu;  irresistible  by  any  Power." 

'Oh,  do  shut  up.  Why  was  I  born  with  a  name  that 
?ould  be  punned  on  ?  No  more  puns,  Flip,  if  you  love  me." 
said  Power  ;  and  they  all  three  walked  under  the  nobis 
Norman  archway  that  formed  the  entrance  to  the  school. 


STEP    BY    STEP.  91 

"  By  tLo  powers  I"  said  Henderson  to  Walter,  as  the 
other  left  them,  you  have  got  a  new  friend  worth  having, 
Walter.  He  doesn't  make  himself  at  home  with  every  one> 
[  can.  tell  you;  and  if  he  and  Dul'.bs  cultivate  you,  I  should 
think  it's  about  time  for  any  ons  else  to  be  ashamed  of  cut- 
ting you,  my  boy." 

"  I'm  quite  happy  now,"  said  Walter,  "  with  you  and 
Kenrick  and  him  for  friends.  I  don't  care  so  much  for  the 
rest.     I  wonder  why  he  likes  me  ?" 

"Well,  because  he  thinks  the  fellows  a  great  deal  too 
hard  on  you  for  one  thing.  How  very  good  and  patient 
you've  been,  Walter,  under  it  all." 

"It's  hard  sometimes,  Flip,  but  I  deserve  it.  Only  now 
and  then  I'm  afraid  that  you  and  Ken  will  get  quite  tired 
of  me,  I've  so  few  to  speak  to.  Harpour  and  that  lot 
would  be  glad  enough  that  I  should  join  them,  I  know, 
and  but  for  you  and  Ken  I  should  have  been  driven  to 
do  it." 

"  Never  mind,  Walter,  my  boy  ;  the  fellows  '11  come 
round  in  time." 

So,  step  by  step,  with  the  countenance  of  some  true  and 
worthy  friends,  and  by  the  help  of  a  stout  heart,  by  pen- 
itence and  by  kindliness,  did  our  brave  little  Walter  win 
his  way.  He  was  helped,  too,  greatly  by  his  achievements 
in  the  games.  At  football  he  played  with  a  vigor  and 
earnestness  which  carried  everything  before  it.  He  got 
several  bases,  and  was  the  youngest  boy  in  the  school  who 
ever  succeeded  in  doing  this.  Gradually  but  surely  his 
temporary  unpopularity  gave  way  ;  and  even  before  he  be- 
gan to  be  generally  recognised  again,  he  bade  fair  ulti- 
mately to  gain  a  high  position  in  the  estimation  of  all  his 
school-fellows. 

There  was  one  scene  which  he  long  remembered,  ana 
which  was  very  trying  to  go  through.     One  fine  afternoon 


92  THE   JUMPING    PRIZE. 

tne  boys'  prize  for  the  highest  jump  was  to  be  awarded,  and 
as  the  school  were  all  greatly  interested  in  the  competi 
tion,  they  were  assembled  in  a  dense  circle  in  the  green 
playground,  leaving  space  for  the  jumpers  in  the  middle. 
The  fine  weather  had  also  tempted  nearly  all  the  inhabitants 
of  St.  Winifred's  to  be  spectators  of  the  contest,  and  num- 
bers of  ladies  were  present,  for  whom  the  boys  had  politely 
left  a  space  within  the  circle.  When  the  chief  jumping 
prize  had  been  won  by  an  active  fellow  in  the  sixth  form, 
another  prize  was  proposed  for  all  boys  under  fifteen. 

"  Bliss,  Franklin,  and  two  other  boys,  at  once  stepped 
into  the  circle  as  competitors,  and  threw  off  their  jackets. 

."  You  must  go  in  for  this,  Walter,"  said  Henderson. 
"  You're  sure  to  get  it." 

"  Not  I.  I  won't  go  in,  Flip,"  said  Walter,  who  was 
naturally  in  a  desponding  mood,  as  he  looked  round  on 
those  four  hundred  faces,  and  saw  among  them  all  scarcely 
one  sympathizing  glance.  You  go  in  and  win  ;  and  never 
mind  talking  to  me  up  here,  Henderson,  it  can't  be  pleasant 
for  you,  I  know,  when  all  the  other  fellows  are  cutting  me." 

"  Pooh,  Walter  1  They're  in  the  wrong  box,  not  you  and 
I.     Do  go  in  for  the  prize." 

Walter  shook  his  head,  gloomily.  "  I  don't  like  to,  be 
fore  all  these  fellows.     They'd  hiss  me,  or  something." 

"  Well  if  you  won't,  /  won't  ;  that's  flat." 

"  Oh  do,  Henderson.  I'm  sure  you'd  get  it.  Don't  ask 
me  to  go  in  ;  that's  a  good  fellow." 

"  None  but  these  four  going  in  for  the  little  jump  \ 
What  !  only  four  ?"  said  one  of  the  young  athletes,  who 
carried  little  blue  flags,  and  arranged  the  preliminaries 
"  Come  in  some  more  of  you." 

"Here  are  two  more,"  said  Henderson.  "Stick  dowr 
our  names — Henderson  and  Evson  ;"  and  pulling  Waltei 
forward  with  him  inside  the  circle,  he  sat  down  and  begai 


HIE   JUMPING    PRIZE.  93 

to  take  off  his  shoes,  that  he  might  run  and  jump  more 
easily  on  the  turf. 

Thus  prominently  mentioned,  Walter  could  hardly  draw 
back,  so  putting  the  best  face  on  it  he  could,  he,  too,  flung 
off  his  jacket  and  shoes. 

The  movable  spar  of  wood  over  which  the  boys  jumped 
was  first  put  at  a  height  of  three  feet,  which  they  could  all 
easily  manage,  and  the  six,  one  after  another,  cleared  it 
lightly.  Even  then,  however,  it  was  pretty  easy  to  judge 
by  their  action  which  was  the  best  jumper,  and  the  con- 
noisseurs on  the  field  at  once  decided  that  the  chance  lay 
between  Henderson  and  Walter.  Walter  was  by  far  the 
most  active  and  graceful  juniper,  but  Henderson  had  the 
advantage  of  being  a  little  the  taller  of  the  two. 

The  spar  was  raised  half  an  inch  each  time;  and  when  it 
had  attained  the  height  of  three  feet  and  a  half,  two  of  the 
candidates  failed  to  clear  it  after  three  trials. 

Bliss  was  the  next  to  break  down.  His  awkward  jumps 
had  excited  a  great  deal  of  laughter,  and  when  he  finally 
failed,  Henderson  found  time  even  then  to  begin  a  line  or 
two  of  his  monody  on  Blissidas,  which  was  a  standing  joke 
against  poor  Bliss,  who  always  met  it  by  the  same  invari- 
able observation  of  "  I'll  lick  you  afterwards,  Flip." 

Only  three  competitors  were  now  left — Franklin,  Hen- 
derson, and  Walter — and  they  jumped  on  steadily  till  they 
had  reached  the  height  of  four  feet  and  one  inch,  and  then 
Franklin  broke  down,  but  recovered  himself  in  a  second 
chance. 

The  struggle  now  became  very  exciting,  and  as  Frank- 
lin and  Henderson  again  cleared  the  bar  at  the  height  of  four 
feet  four,  each  of  them  were  loudly  clapped.  But  Walter 
^-who  jumped  last  always,  because  he  had  been  the  last 
candidate  to  come  forward — although  he  cleared  it  with  an 
easy  bound,  received  no  sign  of  encouragement  from  an? 


94  UNDER   DIFFICULTIES. 

of  the  boys.  He  cleared  it  in  perfect  silence,  only  broken 
by  Mr.  Paton,  who  was  looking-  on  with  a  group  of  other 
masters,  and  who  said,  encouragingly — "  Very  well  done, 
Evson  ;  capital  1" 

The  bar  was  raised  an  :nch,  and  again  the  three  boys 
cleared  it,  and  again  the  first  two  were  greeted  with  aj> 
plause,  and  Walter  was  left  unnoticed,  except  by  Powei 
and  Kenrick,  who  applauded  him  heartily,  and  patted  him 
on  the  back.  But  indeed  their  clapping  only  served  to 
throw  into  stronger  relief  the  loud  applause  which  the 
others  received.  Waiter  almost  wished  that  they  would 
desist.  He  was  greatly  agitated,  and  his  friends  saw  that 
he  was  trembling  with  emotion.  He  had  been  much  mor- 
tified the  first  time  to  be  thus  pointedly  scorned  in  so  large 
a  crowd  of  strangers,  and  made  a  marked  object  of  repro- 
bation before  them  all  ;  but  that  this  open  shame  should 
be  thus  steadily  and  continuously  put  upon  him,  made  his 
heart  swell  with  sorrow  and  indignation  at  the  ungenerous 
aud  unforgiving  spirit  of  his  school-fellows. 

Once  more  the  bar  was  raised  an  inch.  The  other  two 
got  over  it  amid  a  burst  of  applause  ;  and  this  time  Wal- 
ter, who  was  unnerved  by  the  painful  circumstances  iu 
which  he  found  himself,  brushed  against  it  as  he  came  over, 
and  knocked  it  off.  The  bar  was  replaced,  and  at  his 
second  trial  (for  three  were  allowed)  he  jumped  so  well 
that  he  flew  easily  over  it.  Always  before,  a  boy  who  had 
recovered  himself  after  a  failure  had  been  saluted  with 
double  cheering;  but  again  Walter's  proceedings  were  ob- 
served by  that  large  crowd  in  dead  silence,  while  he  could 
not  help  overhearing  the  whispered  queries  which  asked  an 
explanation  of  so  unusual  a  circumstance. 

"Why  don't  they  cheer  him  as  well  as  the  others?" 
asked  a  fair  young  girl  of  her  brother.  "  He  looks  such  o 
U>«*e  boy." 


A   TRYING    SCENE.  95 

**  Because  he  did  a  very  shabby  thing  not  long  ago,"  ras 
the  reply. 

He  could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  glanced  round  at  the 
speakers  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger,  and  then,  instead 
of  returning  to  the  starting-point,  he  turned  hastily  aside, 
and,  declining  the  contest,  plunged  into  the  thickest  of  the 
°.rowd. 

"  Evson's  giving  it  up.     What  a  pity  !"  said  several  boys. 

"No  wonder  he's  giving  it  up,"  said  Power,  indignantly, 
"after  the  way  you  fellows  treat  him.  Nevermind  them, 
Walter,"  he  said,  taking  him  by  the  arm  ;  "  they  will  be 
ashamed  of  themselves  by-aud-by." 

"  You're  not  going  to  withdraw,  Evson  ?"  asked  one  cf 
the  chief  athletes,  in  a  kind  tone. 

"  Yes,"  said  Walter,  retiring  still  farther  to  hide  himself 
amid  the  crowd. 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  Henderson,  who  had  heard  the  an- 
swer ;  "  come,  Walter,  it'll  spoil  all  the  fun  if  you  don't  go 
on." 

"  I  can't,  Flip,"  said  Walter,  turning  aside,  and  hastily 
brushing  away  the  tears  which  would  come  into  his  eyes. 

"  Do,  Walter,  they  all  wish  it,"  whispered  Henderson  ; 
"  be  brave,  and  get  the  prize  in  spite  of  all  ;  here's  Paton 
coming  round  ;   I'm  sure  it's  to  cheer  you  up." 

"  Vrery  well,  Flip,  I  will  if  it  pleases  you  ;  but  it's  rather 
hard,"  he  said,  fairly  bursting  into  tears.  "  Remember, 
it's  only  for  your  sake  I  do  it,  Flip." 

"  Go  on,  Walter  ;  don't  give  way,"  said  Mr.  Paton 
aloud,  in  his  gentlest  and  most  encouraging  voice,  as  the 
boy  hastily  reentered  the  arena,  and  took  his  place. 

This  time  Fiankliu  finally  broke  clown,  Henderson 
barely  scrambled  over,  and  Walter,  nerved  by  excitement 
and  indignation,  cleared  the  bar  by  a  brilliant  flying  leap. 
There  was  no  mistake  about  Hie  applause  this  time.     The 


96  THE    PRIZES. 

boys  had  seen  how  their  coolness  had  told  on  him.  Thej 
were  touched  by  the  pluck  he  showed  in  spite  of  his  dejected 
look,  and  as  though  to  make  up  for  their  former  deficiency, 
they  clapped  him  as  loud  as  either  of  the  others. 

And  now  a  spirited  contest  began  between  Henderson 
and  Walter.  Four  feet  six  and  a  half  they  both  accom 
plishcd — Walter  the  first  time,  and  Henderson  the  third 
When  Henderson,  at  the  last  trial,  barely  succeeded,  a 
loud  shout  rose  from  the  field,  quite  enthusiastic  enough  to 
show  that  the  wishes  of  the  school  were  on  his  side.  This 
decided  Walter,  for  he  too  was  anxious  that  Henderson, 
who  had  set  his  heart  upon  the  prize,  and  was  now  quite 
eager  with  emulation,  should  be  the  successful  competitor. 
At  four  feet  seven,  therefore,  he  meant  to  break  down,  but, 
at  the  same  time,  to  clear  the  bar  so  nearly  each  time  of 
trial,  that  it  might  not  be  obvious  to  any  one  that  he  was 
not  putting  forth  his  best  strength.  The  first  time,  how- 
ever, he  jumped  so  carelessly  that  Henderson  suspected  his 
purpose,  and,  therefore,  the  second  time  he  exerted  him- 
self a  little  more,  and,  to  his  own  astonishment,  accom- 
plished the  leap  without  having  intended  to  do  so.  Hen- 
derson also  just  succeeded  in  managing  it,  and  as  Walter 
refused  to  try  another  half  inch,  the  prize  was  declared, 
amid  loud  cheers,  to  be  equally  divided  between  them,  after 
the  best  competition  that  ever  had  been  known. 

The  boys  and  the  spectators  now  moved  off  to  the  pavi- 
lion, where  the  prizes  were  to  be  distributed  by  Mrs.  Lane. 
But  when  Walter's  name  was  called  out  with  Hinderson's. 
the  latter  only  stepped  forward.  Walter  had  disappeared; 
and  the  boys  were  again  made  to  feel,  by  his  voluntary 
absence,  what  bitterness  of  heart  their  unkind  conduct 
paused  him. 

Henderson  took  the  prize  for  his  friend,  when  he  re- 
ceived his  own.     The  prizes  were  a  silver-mounted  riding 


DEJECTION.  97 

whip,  and  a  belt  with  a  .silver  clasp,  and  Mrs.  Lane  tola 
Henderson  that  she  was  sorry  for  the  other  victor's  ab- 
sence, and  that  either  of  them  might  choose  whichever 
prize  he  liked  best.  When  the  crowd  had  dispersed,  Hen- 
derson, knowing  Walter's  haunts,  strolled  with  Kenrick  to 
a  little  fir-grove  on  the  slope  of  Bardlyn  Hill,  not  far  above 
the  sea.  Here,  as  they  expected,  they  found  Walter.  He 
was  sitting  in  a  listless  attitude,  with  his  back  towards 
them,  and  he  started  as  he  heard  their  footsteps. 

"  You  let  yourself  be  beaten,  Evson  Walter, 
And  afterwards  you  proved  a  base  defaulter," 

said  Henderson,  who  was  in  high  spirits,  as  he  clapped  hi* 
hands  on  Walter's  shoulders,  and  continued — 

"  Behold  I  bring  you  now  the  silver  prizes, 
Meant  to  reward  your  feels  and  exercises." 

Even  Walter  could  not  help  smiling  at  this  sally,  but  he 
said  at  once,  "  You  must  keep  both  prizes,  Flip  ;  I  don't 
mean  to  take  either — indeed  I  won't  ;  I  shouldn't  have 
gone  in  at  all  but  for  you." 

"  0,  do  take  one,"  said  Kenrick  ;  the  fellows  will  think 
you  too  proud  if  you  don't." 

"  I  don't  care  what  they  think  of  me,  Ken  ;  you  saw 
how  they  treated  me.'  Flip,  I'd  take  the  prize  in  a  minute 
to  please  you,  but  indeed,  it  would  only  remind  me  con- 
btantly  of  this  odious  jumping,  and  I'd  much  rather  not." 

"  I  can't  take  both  prizes,  Walter,"  said  Henderson. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  what — give  one  to  Franklin;  he 
jumped  very  well,  and  he's  not  half  a  bad  fellow.  Don't 
press  me,  Flip  ;  1  can't  refuse  you  anything  if  you  do,  be- 
cause you've  been  so  very,  very  kind  ;  but  yc  i  don't  know 
how  wretched  I  feel." 

6 


98  NOBLE   EFFORTS. 

Henderson,  who  had  looked  annoyed,  cleared  up  in  a 
moment. 

"  All  right,  Walter  ;  it  shall  be  as  you  like.  Franklin 
Bhall  have  it.  You've  had  quite  enough  to  bear  already 
So,  cheer  up,  and  come  along." 

It  was  soon  known  in  the  school  how  Walter  had 
yielded  the  prize  to  Franklin,  and  it  was  known,  too,  that 
next  day  he  had  gone  to  jump  with  Henderson,  Franklin, 
and  some  others,  and  had  cleared  the  bar  at  four  feet  eight, 
which  none  of  them  had  been  able  to  do.  The  boys  ad- 
mired his  conduct  throughout  ;  and  from  that  day  forward 
many  were  as  anxions  to  renew  an  acquaintance  with  him, 
as  they  had  previously  been  to  break  it  off. 

And  there  was  an  early  opportunity  of  testing  this  ;  for 
a  i'ew  days  after  the  scene  just  described  the  champion  race 
for  boys  under  fifteen  was  tried  for,  and  when  Walter  won 
it  by  accomplishing  the  distance  in  the  shortest  time  that 
had  yet  been  known,  and  by  distancing  the  other  runners, 
he  was  received  with  a  cheer,  which  was  all  the  more 
hearty  because  the  boys  were  anxious  to  do  him  a  tardy 
justice.  If  Walter  had  not  been  too  noble  to  be  merely 
patronized,  and  too  reserved  to  be  "hail-fellow-well-met" 
with  every  one,  he  would  have  fallen  more  easily  and 
speedily  into  the  position  which  he  now  slowly  but  honor- 
ably recovered. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that,  in  his  school-work,  Waller 
struggled  with  all  his  might  to  give  satisfaction  to  Mr. 
Paton,  and  to  spare  him  from  all  pain.  There  was  some 
thing  really  admirable  iD  the  way  he  worked,  and  taxed 
tiimself  even  beyond  his  strength,  to  prove  his  regret  fo* 
Mr.  Paton's  loss,  by  doing  all  that  was  required  of  him 
Naturally  quick  and  lively  as  he  was,  he  sate  as  quiet  and 
attentive  in  school,  as  if  he  had  been  gifted  with  a  dispo. 
eition  as  unmercurial  as  that  of  Daubeny  himself.    In  order 


IN    THE    CHOIR.  93 

to  make  sure  of  his  lessons,  he  went  over  them  with  Hen- 
derson (who  entered  eagerly  into  his  wishes)  with  such 
care,  that  they,  both  of  them,  astonished  themselves  with 
their  own  improving  progress.  If  they  came  to  any  insu' 
perable  difficulties,  Kenrick  or  Power  gladly  helped  them, 
and  explained  everything  to  them  with  that  sympathetic 
clearness  of  instruction  which  makes  one  boy  the  best 
teacher  to  another.  The  main  difficulty  still  continued  to 
be  the  repetition,  and  grammar  rules  ;  but  in  order  to 
know  them,  at  least  by  rote,  Walter  would  get  up  with  the 
earliest  gleam  of  daylight,  and  would  put  on  his  trowsera 
and  waistcoat  after  bed-time,  and  go  and  sit,  book  in  hand, 
under  the  gas-light  in  the  passage.  This  was  hard  work, 
doubtless  ;  but  it  brought  its  own  reward  in  successful  en- 
deavor and  an  approving  conscience.  Under  this  discipline 
his  memory  rapidly  grew  retentive  ;  no  difficulty  can  stand 
the  assaults  of  such  batteries  as  these,  and  Walter  was 
soon  free  from  all  punishments,  and  as  happy  as  the  day 
was  long. 

One  little  cloud  alone  remained — the  continued  and  ob- 
vious displeasure  of  his  tutor,  and  one  or  two  of  Mr.  Pa 
ton's  chief  friends  among  the  masters.  One  of  these  was 
Mr.  Edwards,  who,  among  other  duties,  had  the  manage- 
ment of  the  chapel  choir.  But  at  length  Mr.  Edwards 
gave  him  a  distinguished  proof  of  his  returning  respect. 
He  sate  near  Walter  in  chapel,  and  the  hymn  happened  to 
be  one  which  came  closely  home  to  Walter's  heart  after  his 
recent  troubles.  This  made  him  join  with  great  feeling  in 
the  singing,  zind  the  choir  master  was  struck  with  the 
strength  and  rare  sweetness  of  his  voice.  As  he  left  the 
Chapel,  Mr.  Edwards  said  to  him,  "  Evson,  there  is  a  va- 
cancy for  a  treble  in  the  choir  ;  I  heard  you  sing  in  chapel 
to-day,  and  I  think  that  you  would  supply  the  place  verv 
well.     Should  you  like  to  join?" 


100  THE    LAST   'JO    FOKGIVE. 

Walter  very  gladly  accepted  the  offer  ;  partly  because 
he  hailed  the  opportunity  of  learning  a  lit -ie  about  music, 
and  because  the  choir  boys  were  allowed  several  highly, 
valued  and  exceptional  privileges ;  but  chiefly  because 
they  were  always  chosen  by  the  masters  with  express 
reference  to  character,  and  therefore  the  invitation  to  join 
their  number  was  the  clearest  proof  that  could  be  given  him 
that  the  past  was  condoned. 

The  last  to  offer  him  the  right  hand  of  forgiveness,  but 
the  best  and  warmest  friend  to  him  when  once  he  had  done 
bo,  was  Mr.  Percival.  He  still  passed  him  with  only  the 
coldest  and  most  distant  recognition,  for  he  not  only  felt 
Mr.  Paton's  loss  with  peculiar  sorrow,  but  was  also  vexed 
and  disappointed  that  a  boy  whose  character  he  had  openly 
defended  should  have  proved  so  unworthy  of  his  encomium. 
It  happened  that  the  only  time  that  Walter  was  ever  again 
sent  to  detention,  was  for  a  failure  in  a  long  lesson,  includ- 
ing much  which  had  been  learnt  on  the  morning  that  he 
was  out  of  school,  which,  in  consequence,  he  found  it  im- 
possible, with  all  his  efforts,  to  master.  Mr.  Paton  saw 
how  mortified  and  pained  he  was  to  fail,  and  when  he  sent 
him  to  detention,  most  kindly  called  him  up,  and  told  him 
that  he  saw  the  cause  of  his  unsuccess,  and  was  not  in  th, 
least  displeased  at  it,  although,  as  he  had  similarly  punished 
othei  boys,  he  could  not  make  any  exception  to  the  usual 
rule  of  punishment.  On  this  occasion,  it  was  again  Mr. 
Percival's  turn  to  sit  with  the  detenus,  and  seeing  Walter 
among  them,  he  too  hastily  concluded  that  he  was  still  con- 
tinuing a  career  of  disgrace. 

"  What  1  you  here  again  ?"  he  said  with  chilling  scorn, 
as  he  passed  the  seat  where  Walter  sate  writing.  "  After 
what  has  happened,  I  should  have  been  ashamed  to  be  sent 
here,  if  I  were  you." 

After  his  days  and  nights  of  toil,  after  his  long,  manly 


AN    INVITATION.  101 

noble  struggle  to  show  his  penitence,  after  his  heavy  and 
disproportionate  punishment,  it  was  hard  to  be  so  addressed 
by  one  whom  he  respected,  in  the  presence  of  all  the  idles! 
in  the  school,  and  in  consequence  of  a  purely  accidental 
and  isolated  failure.  Walter  looked  up  with  an  appealing 
iook  in  his  dark  blue  eyes  ;  but  Mr.  Percival  had  passed  on, 
and  he  bent  his  head  over  his  paper  with  the  old  sense  that 
the  past  could  never  be  forgotten,  the  recollection  of  his 
disgrace  never  obliterated.  No  one  was  observing  him  ; 
and  as  the  feeling  of  despair  grew  in  him,  a  large  tear 
dropped  down  upon  his  paper  ;  he  wiped  it  quietly  away, 
and  continued  writing,  but  another  and  another  fell,  and  he 
could  not  help  it.  For  Mr.  Percival  was  almost  the  only 
master  whose  good-will  he  very  strongly  coveted,  and  whose 
approval  he  was  most  anxious  to  attain. 

When  next  Mr.  Percival  stopped  and  looked  at  Walter, 
he  saw  that  his  words  had  wounded  him  to  the  heart,  and 
knew  well  why  the  boy's  lines  were  blurred  and  blotted, 
when  he  showed  them  up  with  a  timid  hand  and  downcast 
look. 

He  was  touched.  "  I  have  been  too  hard  on  you,  Ev« 
bou,"  he  said.  "I  see  it  now.  Come  to  tea  with  mo  aftei 
chapel  this  evening  ;  I  want  to  speak  with  yon." 


CHAPTER  THE  ELEVENTH. 

HAPPIER     HOURS. 

WHEN  chapel  was  over,  "Walter,  having  brushed  Ills 
hair,  and  made  himself  rather  neater  and  more 
spruce  than  a  schoolboy  usually  is  at  the  middle  of 
a  long  half,  went  to  Mr.  PercivaFs  room.  Mr.  Percival, 
having  been  detained,  had  not  yet  come  in  ;  but  Hender- 
son, Kenrick,  and  Power,  who  had  also  been  asked  to  tea, 
were  there  waiting  for  him  when  Walter  arrived,  and  Hen- 
derson was,  as  usual,  amusing  the  others  and  himself  with 
a  flood  of  mimicry  and  nonsense. 

"You  know  that  mischievous  little  Peukridge,"  saia 
Kenrick  ;  "  he  nearly  had  an  accident  this  morning.  We 
were  in  the  class-room,  and  Edwards  was  complaining  of 
the  bad  smell  of  the  room  " 

"  Bad  smell  1"  interrupted  Henderson,  "  I'll  bet  you 
what  you  like  Edwards  didn't  say  bad  smell.  He's  not  the 
man  to  call  a  spade  a  spade  ;  he  calls  it  an  agricultural 
implement  for  the  trituration  of  the  soil." 

"  Why,  what  should  he  say  ?"  asked  Kenrick,  "  if  he 
didn't  say  «  bad  smell  V  " 

"  Why,  '  What  a  malodorous  effluvium  1'  "  said  Hender- 
son, imitating  exactly  the  master's  somewhat  drawling 
tone  ;  '  what  a  con-cen-trra-ted  malarious  miasma  ;'  I  say, 
Power,  give  us  the  Greek,  or  Hebrew,  or  Kamschatkan  for 
♦smell.' " 

"  'Odax^,"  suggested  Power. 

"  That's  it  to  a  T,''  said  Henderson. 
Un 


THE   YOUNG    MIMIC.  103 

•'  Well,  I  believe  lie  did  say  something  of  the  kind,"  said 
Kenrick,  laughing  ;  "  at  least  I  know  he  called  it  Stygian 
Dad  Tartarean.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  he  set  Penkridge 
(who  happened  to  be  going  round  with  the  lists)  to  exam- 
ine the  cupboards,  and  see  if  by  chance  some  inopportune 
rat  had  died  there  ;  and  Penkridge,  opening  one  of  them 
where  the  floor  was  very  rotten,  and  poking  about  with  his 
foot,  knocked  a  great  piece  of  plaster  off  the  great  school- 
room ceiling,  and  was  as  nearly  as  possible  putting  his  foot 
through  it." 

"  Fancy  if  he  had,"  said  Walter,  how  astonished  we 
should  have  been  down  below.  I  say,  Henderson,  what 
would  Paton  have  said  ?" 

"  Oh  1  Paton,"  said  Henderson,  delighted  with  any  op- 
portunity for  mimicry,  "  he'd  have  whispered  quietly,  in  an 
emotionless  voice,  '  Penkridge,  Penkridge,  come  here — come 
here,  Penkridge.  This  is  a  very  uuusual  method,  Penk- 
ridge, of  entering  a  room — highly  irregular.  If  you 
haven't  broken  your  leg  or  your  arm,  Penkridge,  you  must 
write  me  two  hundred  Hues.' " 

"  And  Robertson  ?"  asked  Kenrick. 

"  Oh  1  Robertson — he'd  have  put  up  his  eye-glass,"  said 
Henderson,  again  exactly  hitting  off  the  master's  attitude, 
"  and  he'd  have  observed,  'Ah !  Penkridge  has  fallen  through 
the  floor  ;  probably  fractured  some  bones.  Slippery  fellow, 
he  won't  be  able  to  go  to  the  Fighting  Cocks  t/ris  afternoon, 
at  anyratc.'  Whereupon  Stevens  would  have  gone  up  to 
him  with  the  utmost  tenderness,  and  asked  him  if  he  was 
hurt ;  and  Penkridge,  getting  up,  would,  by  way  of  grati- 
tude, have  grinned  in  his  face." 

"  Well,  you'd  better  finish  the  scene,"  said  Power ;  "  what 
would  Percival  have  said  ?" 

"  Thunder  and  lightning  ?  Oh  1  that's  easy  to  decide  ; 
nc'd  have  made  two  or  three  quotations  ;  he'd  have  name- 


104  st.  winifrel.'s. 

iiately  called  the  attention  of  the  form  to  the  fact  thai 
Penkridge  had  been  '  flung  by  angry  Jove 

4  Sheer  o'er  the  crystal  battlements ;  from  morn 
Till  noon  he  fell,  from  noon  till  dewy  eve ; 
A  winter's  day,  and  as  the  tea-bell  rang, 
Shot  from  the  ceiling  like  a  falling  star 
On  the  great  school-room  floor.'  " 

"  Would  he,  indeed  ?"  said  Mr.  Percival,  pinching  Hen- 
derson's ear,  as  he  came  in  just  in  time  to  join  in  the  laugh 
which  this  parody  occasioned. 

Tea  at  St.  Winifred's  is  a  regular  and  recognized  insti- 
tution. There  are  few  nights  on  which  some  of  the  boya 
do  not  adjourn  after  chapel  to  tea  at  the  masters'  houses, 
when  they  have  the  privilege  of  sitting  up  an  hour  and  a 
half  later.  The  masters  generally  adopt  this  method  of 
seeing  their  pupils  and  the  boys  in  whom  they  are  interested. 
Tiie  institution  works  admirably  ;  the  first  and  immediate 
result  of  it  is,  that  there  boys  and  masters  are  more  inti- 
mately acquainted,  and  being  so,  are  on  warmer  aud  friend- 
lier terms  with  each  other  than  perhaps  at  any  other  school 
— certainly  on  warmer  terms  than  if  they  never  met  ex- 
cept in  the  still  and  punishment-pervaded  atmosphere  of 
the  school-rooms ;  and  the  second  and  remoter  result  is,  that 
not  only  in  the  matter  of  work  already  alluded  to,  but  also 
in  other  and  equally  important  particulars,  the  tone  and 
character  of  St.  Winifred's  boys  is  higher  and  purer  than 
it  would  otherwise  be.  There  is  a  simplicity  and  manliness 
there  which  cannot  fail  to  bring  forth  its  rich  fruits  of  dili- 
gence, truthfulness,  and  honor.  Many  are  the  boys  who 
have  come  from  thence,  who,  in  the  sweet  yet  sober  dignity 
of  their  life  and  demeanor,  go  far  to  realize  the  beautiful 
ideal  of  Christian  b(  yhood.     Many  are  the  boys  there  why 


H0ME8.  105 

are  walking,  through  the  gates  of  humility  and  diligence, 
to  certain  and  merited,  and  conspicuous  honor. 

Walter  and  the  others  spent  a  very  happy  evening  with 
Mr.  Percival.  When  tea  was  over  they  talked  as  freely 
with  him,  and  with  each  other  in  his  presence,  as  they 
would  have  done  among  ■  themselves  ;  and  the  occasional 
society  of  their  elders  and  superiors  was  in  every  way  good 
for  them.  It  enlarged  their  sympathies,  widened  their 
knowledge,  and  raised  their  moral  tone. 

Among  many  other  subjects  that  evening  they  talked 
over  one  which  never  fails  to  interest  deeply  every  right- 
minded  boy — I  mean  their  homes.  It  was  no  wonder  that, 
as  Walter  talked  of  the  glories  of  Semlyn  lake  and  its  sur- 
rounding hills,  his  face  lighted  up,  and  his  eyes  shone  with 
pleasant  memories.  Mr.  Percival,  as  he  looked  at  him,  felt 
more  puzzled  than  ever  at  his  having  gone  wrong,  and 
more  confirmed  than  ever  in  the  opinion  that  he  had  beeu 
hard  and  unjust  to  him  of  late,  and  that  his  original  esti- 
mate of  him  was  the  right  one  after  all. 

Power's  home  was  a  statelier  one  than  Walter's.  His 
father,  Sir  Lawrence  Power,  was  a  baronet,  the  owner  of 
broad  acres,  whose  large  and  beautiful  mansion  stood  on 
one  of  the  undulations  in  a  park  shadowed  by  ancestral 
trees,  under  whose  boughs  the  deer  fed  with  their  graceful 
fawns  around  them.  Through  the  park  flowed  a  famous 
river,  of  which  the  windings  were  haunted  by  herons  and 
kingfishers,  and  the  pleasant  waters  abounded  in  trout  and 
salmon.  And  to  this  estate  and  title  Power  was  heir  ; 
though  of  course  he  did  not  tell  them  this  while  he  spoke 
of  the  lovely  scenery  around  the  home  where  his  fathers  had 
bo  long  lived. 

Henderson,  again,  was  the  son  of  a  rich  merchant,  who 
had  two  houses — one  city  and  one  suburban.  He  was  a 
regular  little  man  of  the  world.     After  the  holidays  he  had 

5* 


106  kenrick's  home. 

always  seen  the  last  feats  of  Saltori,  and  heard  the  roost 
recent  strains  of  Tiralirini.  He  always  went  to  a  round 
of  entertainments,  and  would  make  you  laugh  by  the  hour 
while  he  sang  the  songs  or  imitated  the  style  of  the  last 
comic  actor  or  Ethiopian  minstrel. 

While  they  were  chatting  over  their  holiday  amusements 
and  occupations,  Kenrick  said  little  ;  and,  wondering  at 
his  silence,  Mr.  Percival  asked  him  in  what  part  of  the 
world  he  lived. 

"  I,  sir  ?"  he  said,  as  though  awakened  from  a  reverie  ; 
"  Oh,  I  live  at  Fusby,  a  village  on  the  border  of  the  fens, 
and  in  the  very  middle  of  the  heavy  clays."  And  Kenrick 
turned  away  his  head. 

"  Don't  abuse  the  clay,"  said  Walter,  to  cheer  him  up  ; 
"  I'm  very  fond  of  the  clay  ;  it  produces  good  roses  and 
good  strawberries — and  those  are  the  two  best  things  go- 
ing, in  any  soil." 

"  Half-past  ten,  youngsters,"  said  Mr.  Percival,  holding 
up  his  watch  ;  "  off  with  you  to  bed.  Let  yourselves  in 
through  the  grounds  ;  here's  the  key.  Good  night  to  you. 
Walter,"  he  said,  calling  him  back  as  he  was  about  to 
leave,  "  oue  word  with  you  alone  ;  you  three  wait  for  him 
a  moment  outside.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that,  although  I 
have  seemed  harsh  to  you,  I  dare  say  of  late,  yet  now  I 
hear  that  you  are  making  the  most  honorable  efforts,  and 
I  have  quite  forgotten  the  past.  My  good  opinion  of  you/ 
Walter,  is  quite  restored  ;  and  whenever  you  want  to  be 
quiet  to  learn  your  lessons,  you  may  always  come  and  sit  hi 
Diy  room." 

Mr.  Percival  was  not  the  only  St.  Winifred's  master 
who  thus  generously  abridged  his  own  leisure  and  privacy 
to  assist  the  boys  in  whom  he  felt  an  interest.  Walter 
thanked  him  with  real  gratitude,  and  rejoined  the  othei 
three.     "  He's  let  me  sit  in  his  room,"  said  Walter. 


A   DISCOVERY.  107 

"  Has  he  ?"  said  Henderson  ;  "  so  he  has  ine.  How 
jolly  !  we  shall  get  on  twice  as  well." 

"  What's  that  ?"  said  Power,  pointing  upwards,  as  they 
walked  througli  the  garden  to  theii  house  door. 

Glancing  in  the  direction,  Walter  saw  a  light  suddenly 
go  out  in  his  dormitory,  and  a  great  bundle  (apparently) 
disappear  inside  the  window,  which  was  then  shut  down. 

"  I'll  go  and  see,"  he  said.  "  Good  night,  you  fel- 
lows." 

All  was  quiet  when  he  reached  his  room,  but  one  of  the 
candles,  ineffectually  extinguished,  was  still  smoking,  and 
when  he  looked  to  Eden's  bed  he  saw,  by  the  gaslight  that 
shone  through  the  open  door,  that  the  child  was  awake, 
and  crying  bitterly. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Eden  ?"  he  said  kindly,  sitting  down 
upon  his  bed. 

"  If  you  peach,"  said  Harpour  and  Jones  together  ; 
"  you  know  what  you'll  get.'* 

"  Have  you  fellows  been  bullying  poor  little  Eden  ?" 
asked  Walter  indignantly. 

"  I've  not,"  and  "  I've  not,"  said  Anthony  and  Franklin, 
who  were  better  than  the  rest  in  every  way  ;  and  "  I 
haven't  touched  the  fellow,  Evson,"  said  Cradock,  who 
meant  no  harm,  and  at  Walter's  earnest  request  had  never 
again  annoyed  Eden  since  the  first  night. 

"  Poor  little  Eden — poor  little  fiddlestick,"  said  Jones  ; 
"  it  does  the  young  cub  good." 

"  Send  him  home  to  his  grandmamma,  and  let  him  have 
his  bib  and  his  night-cap,"  growled  Harpour  ;  "  is  he  made 
of  butter,  and  are  you  afraid  of  his  melting,  you  Evson, 
that  you  make  such  a  fuss  with  him  ?  You  want  your 
lickings  yourself  and  shall  have  them  if  you  don't  look 
out." 

"  I  don't  care  what  you  do  to  me,  Harpour,"  rejoined 


108  AN    ALTERCATION. 

Walter,  "  and  I  don't  think  you'll  do  very  much.  But  1 
do  tell  you  that  it's  a  blackguard  shame  for  a  great  big 
fellow  like  you  to  torment  a  little  delicate  chap  like  Eden ; 
and  what's  more,  you  shan't  do  it." 

"  Shan't  !  my  patience,  I  like  that  !  why,  who  is  to  pre- 
vent me  ?" 

"  I  suppose  he'll  turn  sneak,  and  peach,"  said  Jones ; 
"  he'd  do  anything  that's  mean,  we  all  know." 

Walter  was  always  liable  to  that  taunt  now.  It  was  a 
part  of  his  punishment,  and  the  one  which  lasted  longest. 
From  any  other  boy  he  might  have  winced  under  it ;  but 
really,  coming  from  Jones,  it  was  too  contemptible  to  notice. 

"  You  shut  up,  Jones,"  he  said  angrily  ;  "  you  shan't 
touch  Eden  again,  I  can  tell  you,  whatever  Harpour  does, 
and  he'd  better  look  out  what  he  does." 

"  Look  out,  yourself,"  said  Harpour,  flinging  a  foot-ball 
boot  at  Waiter's  head. 

"  You'll  find  your  boot  on  the  grass  outside  to-morrow 
morning,"  said  Walter,  opening  the  window,  and  dropping 
it  down.  He  wasn't  a  bit  afraid,  because  he  always  went 
on  the  instinctive  and  never-mistaken  assumption,  that  a 
bully  must  be  a  coward  in  his  inmost  nature.  Cruelty  to 
the  weaker  is  incompatible  with  the  generosity  of  all  true 


courage. 


"  By  Jove,  I'll  thrash  you  for  that  to-morrow,"  shouted 
Harpour. 

"  To-morrow .'"  said  Walter,  witli  great  contempt. 

"  Oh,  don't  make  him  angry,  Walter,"  whispered  Eden  ; 
"  you  know  what  a  strong  fellow  he  is  (Edcu  shuddered,  aa 
though  he,  had  reason  to  know)  ;  "  and  you  can't  fight 
him  ;  and  you  mustn't  get  a  thrashing  for  my  sake.  I'm 
not  worth  that.  I'd  rather  bear  it  myself,  Walter  ; — in- 
deed I  would." 

"  Good  night,  poor  little  Eden,"  said  Walter  ;  "  you're 


ARTHUR    EDEN.  10$ 

eafe  to-night  at  anyrate.  Why,  how  cold  you  are  !  What 
have  they  been  doing  to  you  V 

*'  I  daren't  tell  you,  to-night,  Walter  ;  I  will  to-rnorrow," 
he  answered  in  a  low  tone,  shivering  all  over. 

"  Well,  then,  go  to  sleep  now,  my  little  man,  ana  don't 
you  be  afraid  of  Harpour  or  any  one  else.  I  won't  let 
them  bully  you  if  I  can  help  it." 

Eden  squeezed  Walter's  hand  tight,  and  sobbed  big 
thanks,  while  Walte:  gently  smoothed  the  child's  pillow 
and  dried  his  tears. 


CHAPTER  THE  TWELFTH. 

MY    BROTHER'S    KEEPER. 

AS  Walter  lay  awake  for  a  few  quiet  moments  before 
h«  sent  his  thoughts  to  rest,  he  glanced  critically 
over  the  occurrences  of  the  day.  He  could  not  but 
rejoice  that  the  last  person  for  whom  he  felt  real  regard 
had  forgiven  him  his  rash  act,  and  that  his  offence  had  thus 
finally  been  absolved  on  earth  as  in  heaven.  He  rejoiced, 
too,  that  Mr.  Percival's  kind  permission  to  learn  his  lessons 
in  his  room  would  give  him  far  greater  advantages  and 
opportunities  than  he  had  hitherto  enjoyed.  Yet  Walter's 
conscience  was  not  quite  at  ease.  The  last  scene  had  dis- 
turbed him.  The  sobs  and  shiverings  of  little  Eden  had 
fallen  very  reproachfully  into  his  heart.  Walter  felt  that 
he  might  have  done  far  more  for  him  than  he  had  done. 
He  had,  indeed,  even  throughout  his  own  absorbing  trou- 
bles, extended  to  the  child  a  general  protection,  but  not  a 
special  care.  The  truth  was  that  he  had  found  Eden  unin- 
teresting, because  he  had  not  taken  the  pains  to  be  inte- 
rested in  him. 

Eden's  had  been  a  very  unhappy  lot.  Bullied,  teased, 
and  persecuted  by  the  few  among  whom  accident  had  first 
thrown  him,  and  judged  to  belong  to  their  set  by  othera 
who  on  that  account  considered  him  a  boy  of  a  bad  sort, 
he  was  almost  friendless  at  St.  Winifred's.  Aud  the  lone- 
liness, the  despair  of  this  feeling,  weighing  upon  his  heart, 
robbed  him  of  all  courage  to  face  the  difficulties  of  work. 
90  that  in  school  as  well  as  out  of  it,  he  was  always  in  trou- 
ble lie  was  forever  chmsily  scrawling  in  his  now  illegi 
no 


edkn's  troubles.  Ill 

hie  hand  the  crooked  and  blotted  lines  of  punishment  which 
his  seeming  ignorance  or  sluggishness  brought  upon  him  ; 
and  although  he  was  always  to  be  seen  at  detention,  he 
almost  hailed  this  disgrace  as  affording  him  at  least  some 
miserable  shadow  of  occupation,  and  a  refuge,  however  un- 
desirable, from  the  torments  of  those  degraded  few  to 
whom  his  childish  tears,  his  weak  entreaties,  his  bursts  of 
impotent  passion,  caused  nothing  but  low  amusement.  Out 
of  school  his  great  object  always  was  to  hide  himself  ;  any- 
where, so  as  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  Jones,  Harpour, 
and  other  bullies  of  the  same  calibre.  For  this  purpose  he 
would  conceal  himself  for  a  whole  afternoon  at  a  time  up 
in  the  fir  groves;  or,  when  he  feared  that  these  resorts 
would  be  disturbed,  he  would  choose  some  lonely  place,  un- 
der the  shadow  of  the  mountain  cliffs,  and  sit  there  for 
hours  together.  Under  continued  trials  like  these  he  be- 
came  quite  changed.  The  childish  innocence  and  beauty  of 
countenance,  the  frankness  and  gaiety  of  heart,  the  quick- 
ness and  intelligence  of  understanding,  were  exchanged  for 
vacant  looks,  stupid  indifference,  and  that  half-cunning  ex- 
pression which  is  always  induced  by  craven  fear.  Accus- 
tomed, too,  to  be  waited  upon  and  helped  continually  in 
the  home  where  his  mother  had  petted  and  spoiled  him,  he 
became  slovenly  and  untidy  in  dress  and  habits.  He  rarely 
found  time  or  heart  to  write  home,  and  even  when  he  did, 
he  well  knew  that  his  mother  was  incapable  of  compre- 
hending his  sufferings,  and  only  knew  that  he  was  a  very 
friendless,  unhappy,  unpitied  little  boy.  Six  weeks  after 
Arthur  Eden,  a  merry,  bright-eyed  child,  alighted  from  his 
mother's  carriage  at  the  old  gate  of  St.  Winifred's  school, 
no  casual  stranger  would  have  recognised  him  again  in  the 
pale  and  moping  little  fellow  who  seemed  to  be  afraid  of 
every  one  whom  he  met. 
"  Come  a  stroll,   Eden,  before   third  school,  and  let's 


112  my  brother's  keeper. 

have  a  talk,"  lie  said,  as  they  came  out  from  dinner  in  th6 
hall  next  day. 

Eden  looked  up  happily,  and  was  proud  to  be  seen  bj 
Walter's  side  in  the  throng  of  boys,  ao  they  passed  out, 
and  across  the  court,  and  under  the  shadow  of  the  arch 
towards  Walter's  favorite  haunt,  the  sea-shore.  Walter 
never  felt  weak  or  unhappy  when  the  sweetness  of  the  sea 
wind  was  on  his  forehead,  and  the  song  of  the  sea  waves 
in  his  ear.  A  run  upon  the  shore  in  all  weathers,  if  only 
for  five  minutes,  was  his  daily  pleasure  and  resource. 

They  sate  down,  Walter  full  of  healthy  enjoyment  as  he 
breathed  the  pure  atmosphere,  and  felt  the  delicious  wind 
upon  his  glowing  cheeks,  and  Eden  happy  to  be  with  him, 
and  to  sit  quietly  by  his  side. 

"  Eden,"  said  Walter,  after  a  few  moments,  "  I'm  afraid 
you've  not  been  happy  lately." 

"  The  poor  child  shook  his  head,  and  answered,  "  No  one 
cares  for  me  here  ;  every  one  looks  down  on  me,  and  is 
unkind  ;  I  have  no  friends." 

"  What  1  don't  you  count  me  as  a  friend,  then  ?" 

"  Yes,  Walter,  you're  very  kind.  I'm  sure  I  couldn't 
have  lived  here  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you  ;  but  you're  so 
much  above  me,  and" 

Walter  would  not  press  him  to  fill  up  the  omission  ;  he 
could  understand  the  rest  of  the  sentence  for  himself. 

"  You  mustn't  think  I  don't  feel  how  good  you've  been 
to  me,  Walter,"  said  the  boy,  drawing  near  to  him,  and 
taking  his  hand  ;  "  but " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Walter  ;  "  I  understand  it  all.  Well, 
never  mind,  I  will  be  a  friend  to  you  now." 

A  tear  trembled  on  Eden's  long  eyelashes  as  he  looked 
op  quickly  into  Walter's  face.  "  Will  you,  Walter  ?  thank 
you,  I  have  no  other  friend  here  ;  and  please" 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?" 


LET    DOWN.  118 

"  Will  you  call  me  Arthur,  as  thev  do  at  home  ?" 

"  Walter  smiled.  "  Well  now,"  he  said,  "  tell  me  what 
they  were  doing  to  you  last  night." 

*'  You  won't  tell  them  I  told  you,  Walter,"  he  answered, 
looking  round,  with  the  old  look  of  decrepit  fear  usurping 
his  face,  which  had  brightened  for  the  moment. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Walter,  impatiently.  "  Why,  what  a 
little  coward  you  arc,  Eden." 

The  boy  shrank  back  into  himself  as  if  he  had  received 
a  blow,  and  relaxed  his  grasp  of  Walter's  hand;  but  Wal- 
ter, struck  with  the  sensitive  timidity  which  unkindness  had 
caused,  and  sorry  to  have  given  him  pain  in  all  his  troubles, 
said,  kindly — 

"  There,  Arty,  never  mind  ;  I  didn't  mean  it  ;  don't  be 
afraid  ;  tell  me  what  they  did  to  you.  I  saw  a  light  in  our 
dormitory  as  I  was  coming  back  from  Percival's,  and  I  saw 
something  dragged  through  the  window.     What  was  it?" 

"  That  was  me,"  said  Eden,  naively. 

"  You  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  poor  me.  They  let  me  down  by  a  sheet  which 
they  tied  round  my  waist." 

"  What  1  from  that  high  window  ?  I  hope  they  tied  you 
tight." 

"  Only  one  knot.  I  ever  so  nearly  slipped  out  of  it  last 
night  ;  and  that's  what  frightened  me  so,  Walter." 

"  How  horribly  dangerous,"  said  Walter  indignantly. 

"  1  know  it  is  horribly  dangerous,"  said  Eden  ;  "  and  I 
dream  about  it  all  night,"  he  said,  bursting  into  tears  ; 
"  and  I  know — I  know  that  some  day  I  shall  slip,  or  the 
knot  will  come  undone,  and  I  shall  fall  and  be  smashed  to 
atoms.  But  what  do  they  care  for  that  ?  and  I  sometimes 
wish  J  were  dead  myself,  to  have  it  all  over." 

"  Hush,  Arty  1  don't  talk  like  that,"  said  Walter,  as  he 
felt  the  little  soiled  hand  trembling  with  passion  and  eruo 


114  dan's. 

tiou  in  his  own.    "  But  what  on  earth  do  they  let  yon  down 
for  V 

44  To  go  to — but  you  won't  tell  V  he  said,  looking  round 
again.  "  Oh,  I  forgot,  you  didn't  like  my  saying  that. 
But  it's  they  who  have  made  me  a  coward,  Walter;  mdccd 
it  is." 

"  And  no  wonder,"  thought  Walter  to  himself.  "But 
you  needn't  be  afraid  any  more,"  he  said  aloud  ;  I  promise 
you  that  no  one  shall  do  anythiug  to  you  winch  they'd  be 
afraid  to  do  to  me." 

"  Then  I'm  safe,"  said  Eden,  joyfully.  "  Well,  they  made 
me  go  to — to  Dan's." 

"  Dan's  ?     What,  the  fisherman's  just  near  the  shore  ?" 

44  Yes:  ugh  !" 

44  But  don't  you  know,  Arty,  that  Dan's  a  brute,  and  a 
regular  smuggler,  and  that  if  you  were  caught  going  there 
you'd  be  sent  away  ?" 

41  Yes  ;  you  can't  think,  Walter,  how  I  hate,  and  how 
frightened  I  am  to  go  there.  There's  Dan,  and  there's  that 
wicked  son  of  his  ;  and  they're  always  drunk,  and  the  hut 
— it's  so  nasty ;  and  last  night  Dan  seized  hold  of  me,  and 
wanted  me  to  drink  some  gin,  and  I  shrieked.  Well,  then, 
after  that  I  was  nearly  caught.  I  think,  Walter,  that 
even  you  would  be  a  coward  if  you  h^d  such  long,  long 
frights.  You  know  that  to  get  to  Dan's  after  the  gates 
are  locked,  the  only  way  is  to  go  over  the  railing,  and 
through  Dr.  Lane's  garden,  and  I'm  always  frightened  to 
death  lest  his  great  dog  should  be  loose,  and  should  catch 
hold  of  me.  He  did  growl  last  night.  And  then,  as  I  was 
hurrying  back — you  know  it  was  rather  moonlight  last 
uight,  and  not  very  cold — and  who  should  I  see  but  the 
Doctor  himself  walking  up  and  down  the  garden.  I 
crouched  in  a  minute  behind  a  thick  holly  tree,  and  I  sup- 
pose I  made  a  rustle,  though  I  held  my  breath,  for  the 


FRIGHTEN  KD.  115 

Doctor  stopped  and  shook  the  tre€  and  said,  '  shco,  as 
though  he  thought  a  cat  were  hidden  there.  I  was  half 
dead  with  fright,  though  I  did  hope,  after  all,  that  he 
would  catch  me,  and  that  I  might  be  sent  away  from  this 
horrid  place.  But  when  he  turned  round,  I  crept  away 
and  made  the  signal,  and  they  let  down  the  sheet  ;  and 
then,  as  they  were  hauling  me  up,  I  heard  voices — I  sup- 
pose they  must  have  been  yours  and  Kenrick's  ;  but  they 
thought  it  was  some  master,  and,  oh  !  so  nearly  let  me  fall. 
So,  Walter,  please  don't  despise  me,  or  be  angry  with  me, 
because  you  found  me  crying  and  shivering  in  bed.  The 
cold  made  me  shiver,  and  I  couldn't  help  crying  ;  indeed 
I  couldn't." 

"  Poor  Arty  1  poor  Arty  I"  said  Walter,  soothingly. 
"  But  have  they  ever  done  this  before  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  once,  when  you  were  at  the  choir-supper  one  night." 

"  They  never  shall  again,"  said  Walter,  frowning,  as  he 
thought  how  detestably  cruel  they  had  been.  "  But  what 
did  they  send  you  for  V 

"  For  no  good,"  said  Eden. 

"No;  I  knew  it  would  be  for  no  good,  if  it  was  to  Dan'a 
that  they  sent  you." 

"Well,  Walter,  the  first  time  it  was  fcr  some  drink; 
and  the  second  time  for  some  more  drink,"  he  said,  after  a 
little  hesitation. 

Walter  looked  serious.  "  But  don't  you  know,  Arty," 
he  said,  "  that  it's  very  wrong  to  get  such  things  for  them. 
If  they  want  to  have  any  dealings  with  Dan,  who's  not  fit 
to  speak  to,  let  them  go  themselves.  Arty,  it's  very  wrong; 
vou  mustn't  do  it." 

"  But  how  can  I  help  it  ?"  said  the  boy,  looking  fright- 
ened and  ashamed.  "  Oh  !  must  I  always  be  blamed  by 
every  one  ?"  he  said,  putting  his  hands  to  his  eyes.  "  It 
isn't  my  sin,  Walter,  it's  theirs.     They  made  me." 


116  THJE,   PATH    OF    DUTY. 

"  Nobody  can  ever  make,  any  one  else  do  what's  wrongs 
Arty." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  it's  all  very  easy  for  you  to  say  that,  Wal- 
ter, who  are  so  strong  and  good,  and  whom  no  one  dares 
bully,  and  who  are  not  laughed  at,  and  made  a  butt  of,  as 
I  am." 

"  Look  at  Power,"  said  Walter,  "  or  look  at  Dubbs. 
They  came  as  young  as  you,  Arty,  and  as  weak  as  you, 
but  no  one  ever  made  them  do  wrong.  Power  somehow 
looks  too  noble  to  be  bullied  by  any  one  :  they're  afraid 
of  him,  I  don't  know  why.  But  what  had  Dubbs  to  pro- 
tect  him  ?  Yet  not  all  the  Harpours  in  the  world  would 
ever  make  him  go  to  such  a  place  as  Dan's." 

Poor  Eden  felt  it  hard  to  be  blamed  for  this. 

"  But  they'd  half  kill  me,  Walter,"  he  said,  plaintively. 

"  They'll  have  much  more  chance  of  doing  that  as  it  is," 
said  Walter.  "  They'd  thrash  you  a  little,  no  doubt,  but 
respect  you  more  for  it.  And  surely  it  would  be  better  to 
bear  one  thrashing,  and  not  do  what's  wrong,  than  to  do 
it  and  to  go  two  such  journeys  out  of  the  windows,  and 
get  the  thrashing  into  the  bargain.  So,  even  on  that 
ground  you  ought  to  refuse.     Eh,  Arty  ?" 

"  Yes,  Walter,  he  said,  casting  down  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  next  time  either  Harpour,  or  any  one  else,  tries 
to  make  you  do  what's  wrong,  remember  they  can't  make 
you,  if  you  don't  choose  ;  and  say  flatly,  No !  and  stick  to 
it  in  spite  of  everything,  like  a  brave  little  man  ;  will 
you  T 

" 1  did  say  No  !  at  first,  Walter  ;  but  they  threatened  to 
frighten  me,"  he  said.     "  They  knew  I  daren't  hold  out." 

Yes  ;  there  was  the  secret  of  it  all.  Walter  saw  that 
they  had  played  on  this  child's  natural  terrors  with  such 
refinement  of  cruelty,  that  fear  had  become  the  master 
principle  in  his  mind  ;  Walter's  only  surprise  was  that  tw 


A    TRUE   FBIKND.  117 

nad  ±sl  been  made  an  idiot  already.  Poor  child  ;  it  was 
no  wonder  that  he  was  becoming  more  stupid,  cunning,  un« 
tidy,  and  uninteresting,  every  day.  What  was  Walter  to 
do  ?  He  thought,  as  he  raised  his  eyes  for  one  instant  to 
Heaven  in  silent  supplication,  and  made  a  strong  resolve 
that  he  would  use  every  endeavor  to  save  this  poor  unhappy 
child. 

"  I'm  not  blaming  you,  Arthur,"  he  said,  but  I  like  you, 
and  don't  want  to  see  you  go  wrong,  and  be  a  tool  in  bad 
boys'  hands.     I  hope  you  ask  God  to  help  you,  Arthur  ?" 

Eden  looked  at  him  but  said  nothing. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Arthur — ah!  there  I  hear  the  third  school 
bell,  and  we  must  go  hi — but  listen  ;  I'll  be  your  friend  ;  I 
want  to  be  your  friend.  I'll  try  and  save  you  from  all  this 
persecution.     Will  you  always  trust  me  ?" 

Eden's  look  of  gratitude  more  than  repaid  him,  and 
Walter  added,  "  And,  Arty,  you  must  not  give  up  your 
prayers.  Ask  God  to  help  you,  and  to  keep  you  from  going 
wrong,  and  to  make  you  brave.     Won't  you,  Arty  ?" 

The  little  boy's  heart  was  full  even  to  breaking  with  ita 
weight  of  happy  tears  ;  it  was  too  full  to  speak.  He 
pressed  Walter's  hand  for  one  moment,  and  walked  in  hy 
bis  side,  without  a  word. 


CHAPTER  THE   THIRTEENTH. 


DAUBENY. 


I  SUPPOSE  that  no  days  of  life  are  so  happy  as  those  in 
which  some  great  sorrow  has  been  removed.  Certainly 
Walter's  days  as  his  heart  grew  lighter  and  lighter  with 
the  consciousness  that  Mr.  Paton  had  forgiven  him,  that  all 
those  who  once  looked  on  him  coldly  had  come  round,  that 
his  difficulties  were  vanishing  before  steady  diligence,  and 
that,  young  as  he  was,  he  was  winning  for  himself  a  name 
and  a  position  in  the  school,  were  very  full  of  peace.  To 
Walter  at  this  time  life  itself  was  an  exhilarating  enjoy- 
ment. To  get  over  his  lessons  easily  and  successfully,  and 
receive  Mr.  Paton's  quiet  word  of  praise  ;  to  shake  with 
laughing  over  the  flood  of  nonsense  with  which  Henderson 
always  deluged  every  one  who  sat  near  him  at  breakfast 
time ;  to  help  little  Eden  in  his  morning's  work,  and  to  see 
with  what  intense  affection  and  almost  adoration  the  child 
looked  up  to  him  ;  to  stroll  with  Kcnrick  under  the  pine 
woods,  or  have  a  pleasant  chat  in  Power's  pretty  little  study, 
or  read  a  book  in  the  luxurious  retirement  of  Mr.  PercivaPa 
room,  or,  if  it  were  a  half  holiday,  to  join  in  the  skating, 
hare  and  hounds,  football,  or  whatever  game  might  be  on 
hand  ; — all  these  things  were  to  Walter  Evson  one  long 
unbroken  pleasure.  At  this  time  he  was  the  brightest,  and 
pleasantest,  and  happiest  of  all  lighthearted  and  happy 
English  boys. 

The  permission  to  go,  whenever  he  liked,  to  Mr.  Perci* 
vol's  room  was  his  most  valued  privilege.  There  he  could 
always  secure  such  immunity  from  disturbance  as  enabled 

116 


DAUIiENY.  119 

him  to  learn  his  lessons  in  half  the  time  he  would  otherwise 
have  been  obliged  to  devote  to  them  ;  and  there  too  he 
could  always  ask  the  master's  assistance  when  he  came  to 
any  insuperable  difficulty,  and  always  enjoy  the  society  of 
Henderson  and  the  one  or  two  other  bovs  who  were  al- 
lowed  by  Mr.  Percival's  kindness  to  use  the  same  retreat. 
From  the  bottom  of  his  form  he  rapidly  rose  to  the  top, 
and  at  last  was  actually  placed  first.  A  murmur  of  pleas- 
ure ran  through  the  form  on  the  first  Sum  lay  when  his  name 
was  read  out  in  this  honorable  position,  and  it  gave  Walter 
nearly  as  much  satisfaction  to  hear  Henderson's  name  read 
out  sixth  on  the  same  day  ;  for  before  Walter  came,  Hen- 
derson was  too  volatile  ever  to  care  where  he  stood  in  form, 
and  usually  spent  his  time  in  school  in  drawing  caricatures 
of  the  masters,  and  writing  parodies  of  the  lessons  or  epi- 
grams on  other  boys  ;  up  till  this  time  Daubeny  had  always 
been  first  in  the  form,  and  he  deserved  the  place  if  any  boy 
did.  He  was  not  a  clever  boy,  but  nothing  could  exceed 
his  well-intentioned  industry.  Like  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  he 
"  toiled  terribly."  It  was  an  almost  pathetic  sight  to  see 
Dubbs  set  about  learning  his  repetitions  ;  it  was  a  noble 
sight  too.  There  was  a  heroism  about  it  which  was  all  the 
greater  from  its  being  unnoticed  and  unrecorded.  Poor 
Dubbs  had  no  privacy  except  such  as  the  great  school-room 
"tould  afford,  and  there  is  not  much  privacy  in  a  room,  how- 
ever large,  which  is  the  common  habitation  of  fifty  boys. 
Nevertheless  the  undaunted  Daubeny  would  choose  out  the 
quietest  aud  loneliest  corner  of  the  room,  and  with  elbows 
on  knees  and  hands  over  his  ears  to  shut  out  the  chaotic 
noises  which  surrounded  him,  would  stay  repeating  the  lines 
to  himself  with  attention  wholly  concentrated  and  absorbed, 
until,  after  perhaps  an  hour's  work,  he  kuew  enough  of  them 
to  enable  him  to  finish  mastering  them  the  next  morning. 
Next  morning  he  would  be  up  with  the  earliest  dawn,  and 


l'jO        TOILING    TERRIBL5T,  IN    SPITE    OF    FAILURE. 

would  again  set  himself  to  the  task  with  grand  determina- 
tion, content  if  at  the  end  of  the  week  he  gained  the  dis- 
tinguished reward  of  being  head  in  his  form,  and  could  al- 
low himself  the  keen  pleasure  of  writing  home  to  tell  hia 
mother  of  his  success. 

When  Daubeny  had  first  come  to  St.  Winifred's,  he  had 
been  forced  to  go  through  very  great  persecution.  As  he 
6at  down  to  do  his  work  he  would  be  pelted  with  orange 
peel,  tilted  oft°  the  form  on  which  he  sat,  ridiculed,  and 
sometimes  chased  out  of  the  room.  All  this  he  had  en- 
dured with  admirable  patience  and  good  humor  ;  in  short 
so  patiently  and  good  humoredly  that  all  boys  who  had  in 
them  a  spark  of  sense  or  honor  very  soon  abandoned  this 
system  of  torment,  and  made  up  for  it  as  far  as  they  could 
by  respect  and  kindness,  which  always,  however,  took  more 
or  less  the  form  of  banter.  Nothing  could  daunt  this  young 
martyr-  -not  even  failure  itself.  If  he  were  too  much  an- 
noyed to  get  up  his  lesson  overnight,  he  would  be  up  by 
five  in  the  morning  working  at  it  with  unremitting  assiduity. 
Very  often  he  overdid  it,  and  knew  his  lesson  all  the  worse 
in  proportion  as  he  had  spent  upon  it  too  great  an  amount 
cf  time.  Without  being  positively  stupid,  his  intellect  was 
somewhat  dull,  and  as  his  manner  was  shy  and  awkward 
he  had  not  been  quite  understood  at  first,  and  no  master 
had  taken  him  specially  in  hand  to  lighten  his  burdens. 
His  bitterest  trial,  therefore,  was  to  fail  completely  every 
now  and  then,  and  be  reproached  for  it  by  some  master  who 
little  knew  the  hours  of  weary  work  which  he  had  devoted 
to  the  unsuccessful  attempt.  This  was  particularly  the 
case  during  his  first  half-year,  during  which  he  had  been  in 
Mr.  Robertson's  form.  It  happened  that,  from  the  very 
weariness  of  brain  induced  by  his  working  too  hard,  he  had 
failed  in  several  successive  lessons,  and  Mr.  Robertson  had 
made  some  very  cutting  remarks  upon  him,  and  sent  hire 


POWKR    AND    DAUBENY.  121 

to  detention — a  punishment  which,  caused  to  his  sensitive 
mind  a,  pain  hardly  less  acute  than  the  master's  pungent 
aud  undeserved  sarcasm.  This  mishap,  joined  to  his  low 
weekly  placing,  very  nearly  tilled  him  with  despair,  and  this 
day  might  have  turned  the  scale,  and  fixed  him  iu  the  po- 
sition of  a  heavy  and  disheartened  boy,  but  for  Power,  who 
had  come  to  St.  Winifred's  at  the  same  time  with  Daubeny, 
and  who,  although  in  his  unusually  rapid  progress  he  had 
long  left  Daubeny  behind,  was  then  hi  the  same  form  aud 
the  same  dormitory  with  him,  and  kuevv  how  he  worked. 
Power  used  always  to  say  to  his  friends  that  Dubbs  was 
the  worthiest,  the  bravest,  the  most  upright  and  conscien- 
tious boy  in  all  St.  Winifred's  school.  Daubeny,  on  the 
other  hand,  had  for  Power  the  kind  of  adoration  of  the 
savage  for  the  sun  ;  he  was  the  boy's  beau-ideal  of  a  per- 
fect scholar  and  a  perfect  being.  It  was  a  curious  sight  to 
see  the  two  boys  together — Power  with  his  line  and  thought- 
ful face  beaming  with  intelligence,  Dubbs  with  large  heavy 
features  and  awkward  gait ;  Power  sitting  down  with  his 
book  and  perfectly  mastering  the  lesson  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  and  then  turning  round  to  say,  with  a  bright  arch  look, 
"Well,  Dubbs,  Pve  learnt  the  lesson  ;  how  far  are  you?" 

"  Learnt  the  lesson  ?  O  lucky  fellow  ; — I  only  know 
one  stanza,  and  that  not  perfectly  ;  let  me  see — no  ;  1 
don't  know  even  that,  I  see." 

"  Here,  let  me  hear  you." 

Whereupon  Dubbs  would  begin  again,  and  flounder  hope- 
lessly at  the  end  of  the  third  line,  and  then  Power  would 
continue  it  all  through  with  him,  fix  the  sense  of  it  in  his 
memory,  read  it  over,  suggest  little  mnemonic  dodges  and 
associations  of  particular  words  aud  lines,  and  not  leate 
him  until  he  knew  it  by  heart,  and  was  ready  with  grati- 
tude enough  to  pluck  out  his  right  eye  and  give  it  to  Power, 
If  needed,  there  aud  then. 


122  HEAVY    DISCOURAGEMENT. 

The  early  failures  we  have  been  speaking  of  took  place 
when  Power  had  been  staying-  out  of  school  whh  a  severe 
cold,  and  being  in  the  sick-room,  had  not  seen  Daubeny  at 
all.  He  had  come  out  again  on  the  morning  when,  after 
Daubeny's  failure,  Mr.  Robertson  had  called  him  incorrigi 
bly  slothful  and  incapable.  As  he  listened  to  the  master'*, 
remarks,  although  he  knew  that  they  only  arose  from  mis 
conception,  Power's  cheeks  flushed  up  with  painful  surprise, 
and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  indignation  for  his  friend.  He 
wanted  Daubeny  to  tell  Mr.  Robertson  how  many  hours  he 
had  spent  in  being  "incorrigibly  slothful"  over  that  par- 
ticular lesson,  but  this  at  the  time  he  could  not  get  him  to 
do.  "  Besides,"  said  Daubeny,  "  if  he  knows  me  to  be 
quite  hopeless" — and  here  the  poor  boy  grew  scarlet  as  ho 
recalled  the  undeserved  insult — "  it's  no  disgrace  to  me  to 
fail." 

"When  detention  was  over,  Power  sought  out  his  friend, 
and  found  him  sitting  on  the  top  of  a  little  hill  by  the  side 
of  the  river  alone,  and  with  a  most  forlornly  disconsolate 
air.  Power  saw  that  he  had  been  crying  bitterly,  but  had 
too  much  good  taste  to  take  any  notice  of  the  fact. 

"  Well,  Power,  you  see  what  credit  I  get,  and  yet  you 
know  how  I  try.  I'm  a  '  bad,  idle  boy,'  it  seems,  and  '  in- 
corrigibly slothful,'  and  '  hardly  fit  for  the  school,'  and  '  I 
must  be  put  down  to  a  lower  form  if  I  don't  make  more 
effort  ;' — oh  !  I  forgot  though,  you  heard  it  all  yourself. 
So  you  know  my  character,"  he  said,  with  a  melancholy 
smilo. 

"Never  mind,  old  fellow.     You've  done  your  best  and 

cone  of  us  can  do  more.    You  know  the  soldier's  epitaph — 

Here  lies  one  who  tried  to  do  his  duty;' — a  prince  could 

not  have  better,  and  you  deserve  that  if  any  one  ever  did." 

"  I  wish  I  were  you,  Power,"  said  Daubeny  ;  "  you  are 
so  clever,  you  can  learn  the  lessons  in  no  time  ;  every  one 


SYMPATHY.  123 

likes  you,  and  you  get  no  end  of  credit,  while  I'm  a  mere 
butt,  when  I've  worked  hard." 

"  Pooh,  Dubbs,"  said  Power,  kindly  putting  his  arm  on 
nis  shoulder  ;  "  you're  just  as  happy  as  I  am.  A  fellow 
with  a  clear  conscience  can't  be  in  low  spirits  very  long. 
Don't  you  remember  the  pretty  verse  I  read  to  you  the 
other  day,  and  which  made  me  think  of  you  while  I  read  it : 

"  '  Days,  that,  in  spite 

Of  darkness,  by  the  light 

Of  a  dear  mind  are  day  all  night  ?' " 

"  Don't  think  I  envy  you  Power — you  won't  think  that, 
will  you  ?"  said  Dubbs,  with  the  tears  glistening  in  his 
eyes. 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  old  boy.  Such  a  nature  as  yours 
can't  envy,  I  know  ;  I'm  sure  you're  as  happy  when  I  suc- 
ceed as  when  you  succeed  yourself.  I  think  I've  got  the 
secret  of  it,  Dubbs.  You  work  too  much  ;  you  must  take 
more  exercise — play  games  more — give  less  time  to  the 
work.  I'm  sure  you'll  do  better  then,  for  half  is  better  than 
the  whole  sometimes.  And,  Dubbs,  I  may  say  to  you 
what  I  wouldn't  say  to  any  other  boy  in  the  whole  school 
— but  I've  found  it  so  true,  and  I'm  sure  you  will  too,  and 
that  is,  '  To  have  played  well,  is  to  have  studied  well.' " 

Dubbs  pressed  his  hand  in  silence.  The  hard  thoughts 
which  had  been  gathering  were  dissipated  in  a  moment,  and 
as  he  walked  back  to  the  school  and  to  new  heroic  efforts, 
by  Power's  side,  he  felt  that  he  had  learnt  a  secret  full  of 
Btrength.  He  did  better  and  better.  He  broke  the  neck 
of  his  difficulties  one  by  one,  and  had  soon  surpassed  boys 
who  were  far  more  brilliant,  but  less  industrious,  than  him- 
self. Thus  it  was  that  he  fought  his  way  up  to  the  posi- 
tion of  one  of  the  steadiest   aud   most  influential   boys 


124  WORK. 

among  those  of  his  own  standing,  because  all  knew  biro  to 
be  sterling  in  his  virtues,  uuswerving  in  his  rectitude,  most 
humble  and  most  sincere. 

Walter,  like  all  other  sensitive  boys,  felt  for  Daubeny  a 
very  sincere  admiration  and  regard.  Daubeny' s  fearless 
rectitude,  on  the  night  when  his  own  indulged  temper  led 
him  into  such  suffering,  had  left  a  deep  impression  on  his 
mind,  and,  since  then,  Dubbs  had  always  been  among  the 
number  of  his  more  intimate  friends.  Hence,  when  Waltel 
wrested  from  him  the  head  place,  he  was  half  sorry  that  he 
should  cause  the  boy  to  lose  his  well-merited  success,  and 
almost  wished  that  he  had  come  out  second,  and  left  Dau- 
beny first.  He  knew  that  there  was  not  in  his  rival's 
nature  a  particle  of  envy,  but  still  he  feared  that  he  might 
suffer  some  disappointment.  But  in  this  he  Avas  mistaken  ; 
Daubeny  was,  under  the  circumstances,  quite  as  happy  to 
be  second  as  to  be  first ;  and  among  the  many  who  con- 
gratulated Walter,  none  did  so  with  a  heartier  sincerity 
than  this  generous  and  single-minded  boy. 

The  pleasant  excitement  of  contending  for  a  weekly  posi- 
tion made  Daubeny  work  harder  than  ever.  Indeed,  the 
whole  form  seemed  to  have  received  a  new  stimulus  lately. 
Henderson  was  astonishing  everybody  by  a  fit  of  diligence, 
and  even  Howard  Tracy  seemed  less  totally  indifferent  to 
his  place  than  usual.  So  willingly  did  the  boys  work,  that 
Mr  Paton  had  not  half  the  number  of  punishments  to 
set,  and  perhaps  his  late  misfortune  had  infused  a  little  more 
tenderness  and  consideration  into  a  character  always  some- 
what stern  and  unbending.  But,  instead  of  rising,  Daubeny 
only  lost  places  by  his  increased  work;  he  was  making 
himself  ill  with  work.  At  the  end  of  the  next  week,  in- 
stead of  being  first  or  second,  he  was  only  fifth  ;  and  when 
Mr.  Percival,  who  always  had  been  his  friend,  rallied  him 
on  this  descent,  he  sighed  deeply,  and  complained  that  ho 


PERSEVERANCE.  125 

bad  been  suffering  lately  from  headaches,  and  supposed  that 
they  had  prevented  him  from  doing  so  well  as  usual. 

This  remark  rather  alarmed  the  master,  and  on  the  Sun 
day  afternoon  he  asked  the  boy  to  come  a  walk  with  him, 
for  the  express  purpose  of  endeavoring  to  persuade  him  to 
relax  efforts  which  were  obviously  being  made  to  the  injury 
of  his  health. 

When  they  had  once  fairly  reached  the  meadows  by  the 
river  side,  Mr.  Percival  said  to  him  : 

"  You  are  overdoing  it,  Daubeny.  I  can  see  myself  that 
your  mind  is  in  a  tense,  excited,  nervous  condition  from 
work  ;  you  must  lie  fallow,  my  dear  boy." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  very  strong,  sir,"  said  Daubeny  ;  "  I've  a 
cast-iron  constitution,  as  that  amusing  plague  of  mine,  Hen- 
derson, always  tells  me." 

"  Never  mind,  you  must  really  work  less.  I  won't  have 
that  getting  up  at  five  in  the  morning.  If  you  don't  take 
care,  I  shall  forbid  you  to  be  higher  than  twentieth  in 
your  form  under  heavy  penalties,  or  I  shall  get  Dr.  Keith 
to  send  you  home  altogether,  and  not  let  you  go  into  the 
examination." 

"  Oh  1  no,  sir,  you  really  mustn't  do  that.  I  assure  you 
that  I  enjoy  work.  An  illness  I  had  when  I  was  a  child 
hindered  and  threw  me  back  very  much,  and  you  can't  think 
how  eager  I  am  to  make  up  for  that  lost  time." 

"  The  time  is  not  lost,  my  dear  Daubeny,  if  God  de- 
manded it  in  illness  for  his  own  good  purposes.  Be  per- 
suaded, my  boy  ;  abandon,  for  the  present,  all  struggle  to 
take  a  high  place  until  you  feel  quite  well  again,  and  then 
you  shall  work  as  hard  as  you  like.  Remember  knowledge 
itself  is  valueless  in  comparison  with  health." 

Daubeny  felt  the  master's  kind  intention  ;  but  he  could 
not  restrain  his  unconquerable  eagerness  to  get  on.  He 
would  have  succumbed  far  sooner,  if  Walter  and  Powei 


126  OVERTASKED 

had  not  constantly  dragged  bira  out  with  them,  almost  bj 
lorce,  and  made  him  take  exercise  against  his  will.  But, 
though  he  was  naturally  strong  and  healthy,  he  began  to 
look  very  paie,  and  hid  best  friends  urged  him  tc  go  home 
and  take  a  holiday. 


CHAPTER   THE   FOURTEENTH. 

APPENFELL. 

IT  was  some  weeks  before  the  examination,  and  the 
close  of  the  half-year,  when  one  day  Walter,  full  of 
glee,  burst  out  of  the  school-room  at  twelve,  when  the 
lesson  was  over,  to  tell  Kenrick  an  announcement  just  made 
to  the  forms,  that  the  next  day  was  to  be  a  whole  holi- 
day. 

"  Hurrah  |»  said  Kenrick.     "  What's  it  for  V 

"  Oh  1  Somers  has  got  no  end  of  a  scholarship  at  Cam* 
bridge,  and  Dr.  Lane  gave  a  holiday  directly  he  got  the 
telegraph  announcing  the  news." 

"  Well  done,  old  Somers  I"  said  Kenrick.  "  What  shall 
we  do  ?" 

11  Oh  1  I've  had  a  scheme  for  a  long  time  in  my  head, 
Ken.  I  want  you  to  come  with  me  to  the  top  of  Appen- 
fell." 

"  Whew-w-w  !  but  it's  a  tremendous  long  walk,  and  no 
one  goes  up  in  winter." 

"  Never  mind,  all  the  more  fun  and  glory,  and  we  shall 
have  the  whole  day  before  us.  I've  been  longing  to  beat 
that  proud  old  Appenfell  for  a  long  time.  I'm  certain  we 
can  do  it." 

"  But  do  you  mean  that  we  two  should  go  alone  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  ;  we'll  ask  Flip  to  amuse  us  on  the  way." 

"  And  may  I  ask  Power  ?" 

"  If  you  like,"  said  Kenrick,  who  was,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
not  a  little  jealous  of  the  friendship  which  had  sprung  up 
between  Power  and  Walter 


128  THE    PARTY. 

"  And  would  you  mind  Daubeny  joining  us  V 

"Not  at  all;  and  he's  clearly  overworking  himself.  It'll 
do  him  good.  Let  me  see — you,  Power,  Flip,  Dubbs,  and 
me;  that'll  be  enough,  wont  it  ?" 

"  Well,  I  should  like  to  ask  Eden." 

"  Eden  !"  said  Kenrick,  with  the  least  little  touch  of 
contempt  in  his  tone  of  voice. 

"  Poor  little  fellow  1"  said  Walter,  smiling  sadly  ;  "  so 
you,  too,  despise  him.     No  wonder  he  doesn't  get  on." 

"  Oh  1  let  him  come  by  all  means,  if  you  like,"  said 
Kenrick. 

"  Thanks,  Ken — but  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  it's  too 
far  for  him.  Never  mind  ;  let's  go  before  dinner,  and 
order  some  sandwiches  for  to-morrow,  and  fornge  generally, 
at  Cole's." 

Power  and  Daubeny  gladly  consented  to  join  the  excur- 
sion. At  tea,  Walter  asked  Henderson  if  he'd  come  with 
them;  aud  he,  being  just  then  in  a,  phase  of  nonsense,  which 
made  him  speak  of  everything  in  a  manner  intended  to  be 
Homeric,  answered,  with  oracular  gravity  : 

u  Him  addressed  in  reply  the  laughter-loving  son  of  Hender: 
Thou  aske.st  me,  0  Evides,  like  to  the  immortals, 
Whether  thee  I  will  acompany,  and  the  much-enduring  Dubbs, 
And  the  counsellor  Power,  and  the  revered  ox-eyed  Kenrick, 
To  the  tops  of  thousand-crested,  many -fountained  Appenfell." 

"  Grotesque  idiot  1"  said  Kenrick,  laughing,  "  cease  this 
Teak,  washy,  everlasting  flood  of  twaddle,  and  tell  us 
whether  you'll  come  or  no." 

Him  sternly  eyeing,  addressed  in  reply  the  mighty  Hendcrides, 
Hsavy  with  tea,  with  the  eyes  of  a  dog,  and  the  heart  of  a  reitt 

deer : 
What  word  has  escaped  thee,  the  barrier  of  thj  teeth  ? 
Contrary  to  right,  not  accordii  g  to  ''ight,  hast  thou  spoken." 


TIRED  129 

"  For  goodness'  sake  shut  up  before  you've  driven  us  stark 
raving  mad,"  said  Walter,  putting  his  hands  over  Hender- 
son's lips.     Now,  yes  or  no  ;  will  you  come  ?" 

"Thee  will  I  accompany,"  said  Henderson,  struggling 
to  get  clear  of  Walter,  "to  niany-fountained  Appen- 
fell » 

''•  Hurrah  1  that'll  do.  Wo  have  got  an  answer  out  of 
you  at  last  ;  and  now  go  on  spouting  the  whole  Iliad  if 
you  like." 

Full  of  spirits,  they  started  after  breakfast  the  next 
morning,  and  as  they  climbed  higher  and  higher  up  the 
steep  mountain  side,  the  keen  air  exhilarated  them,  and 
showed,  as  through  a  crystal  glass,  the  exceeding  glory  of 
the  hills  flung  on  every  side  around  them,  and  the  broad 
living  sparkle  of  the  sea,  caught  here  and  there  in  glimpses 
between  the  nearer  peaks.  Walter,  Henderson,  and  Ken- 
rick  were  in  front,  while  at  some  distance  behind  them, 
Power  helped  on  Daubeny,  who  soon  showed  signs  of 
fatigue." 

"Look  at  that  happy  fellow  Evsou,"  said  Daubeny, 
sighing;  "  how  he  is  bounding  along  in  front.  How  active 
he  is." 

"  You  seem  out  of  spirits,"  said  Power,  kindly  ;  "  what's 
the  matter  ?" 

"Oh,  nothing.     A  little  tired;  that's  all." 

"  You're  surely  not  fretting  about  having  lost  the  head 
place." 

"  Oh,  no.  '  Palmam  qui  meruit  ferat.'*  As  Robertson 
said  the  other  day,  in  Ids  odd,  fantastic  way  of  expressing 
hie  thoughts,  "  In  the  amber  of  duty  you  must  not  always 
expect  to  find  the  curious  grub  success.' " 

"  Depend  upon  it,  you'd  be  higher  if  you  worked  less, 

*  Let  him  who  has  merited  bear  the  nalm. 
6* 


130  GRASS    ON    THE    HOUSETOPS. 

my  dear  fellow.     Let  me  persuade  you — don't  work  for 
examination  any  more." 

"  You  all  mistake  me.  It's  not  for  the  place  tbat  I  work, 
but  because  I  want  to  know,  to  learn  ;  not  to  grow  up  quite 
stupid  and  empty-headed  as  I  otherwise  should  do." 

"  What  a  love  for  work  you  have,  Daubeny." 

"  Yes,  I  have  now  ;  but  do  you  know  it  really  wasn' 
natural  to  me.  As  a  child,  I  used  to  be  idle  and  get  on 
very  badly,  and  it  used  to  vex  my  poor  father,  who  was 
then  living,  very  much.  Well,  one  day,  not  long  before  he 
died,  I  had  been  very  obstinate,  and  would  learn  nothing. 
He  didn't  say  much,  but  in  the  afternoon,  when  we  were 
taking  a  walk,  we  passed  an  old  barn,  and  on  the  thatched 
roof  was  a  lot  of  grass  and  stoneerop.  He  plucked  a  hand- 
ful, and  showed  me  how  rank  and  useless  it  was,  and  then, 
resting  his  hand  upon  my  head,  he  told  me  that  it  was  the 
type  of  an  idle,  useless  man — '  grass  upon  the  housetops, 
withered  before  it  groweth  np,  wherewith  the  mower  filleth 
not  his  hand,  nor  he  that  gathereth  the  sheaves  his  bosom.' 
Somehow  the  circumstance  took  hold  of  my  imagination  ; 
it  was  the  last  scene  with  my  poor  father  which  I  vividly 
remember.     I  have  never  been  idle  since  then." 

Power  mused  a  little,  and  then  said — "  But,  dear  Dubbs, 
you'll  make  your  brain  heavy  by  the  time  examination  be- 
gins :  you  won't  be  able  to  do  yourself  justice." 

He  did  not  answer;  but  a  weary  look,  which  Power  had 
often  observed  with  anxiety,  came  over  his  face. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  must  turn  back,  Power,"  he  said  j  "  I'm 
quite  tired — done  up." 

"  I've  been  thinking  so,  too.     Let  me  turn  back  with 

fOU." 

"  No,  no  !  I  won't  spoil  your  day's  excursion.     Let  mo 
go  alone." 
"  Hi,  you  fellows  1"  said  Power,  shouting  to  the  threo 


TURNING    BACK.  131 

in  front  They  were  too  far  iu  advance  to  hear  him,  so  lie 
told  Daubeny  to  sit  down  while  he  overtook  them,  and 
asked  if  any  of  them  would  prefer  to  turn  back. 

"  Dubbs  is  too  tired  to  go  any  farther/'  he  said,  when 
be  reached  them,  breathless  with  his  run.  "  I  don't  think 
ne's  very  well,  and  so  I'll  just  go  back  with  him." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  you  really  mustn't,  /  will,"  said  each  of  the 
other  three,  almost  in  a  breath.  Every  one  of  the  fom 
was  most  anxious  to  get  on,  and  reach  the  top  of  Appen- 
fell,  which  was  considered  a  very  great  feat  among  the 
boys  even  in  summer,  as  the  climb  was  dangerous  and  se- 
vere ;  and  yet  each  generously  wished  to  undergo  the  self- 
denial  of  turning  back.  As  their  wills  were  about  equally 
strong,  it  would  have  ended  in  all  of  them  accompanying 
Daubeny,  had  he  not,  when  they  reached  him,  positively 
refused  to  turn  on  such  conditions,  and  suggested  that  they 
should  decide  it  by  drawing  lots. 

Power  wrote  the  names  on  slips  of  paper,  and  Walter 
drew  one  at  hazard.  The  lot  fell  on  Henderson,  so  he  at 
once  took  Daubeny's  arm,  relieving  his  disappointment  by 
turning  round,  shaking  his  fist  at  the  top  of  Appenfell,  and 
saying,  "  You  be  hanged  !  I  wish  you  were  rolled  out 
quite  Jlat  and  planted  with  potatoes  !" 

"There,"  said  Power,  laughing,  "I  should  think  that 
was  about  the  grossest  indignity  the  Genius  of  Appenfell 
ever  had  offered  to  him  ;  so  now  you've  had  your  revenge, 
take  care  of  Dubbs.     Good-bye." 

"  How  very  kind  it  is  of  you  to  come  with  me,  Flip," 
said  Daubeny  ;  "  I  don't  think  I  could  manage  to  get  home 
without  your  help  ;  but  I  am  quite  vexed  to  drag  you 
back.     Good-bye,  you  fellows." 

Walter,  Power,  and  Kenrick,  found  that  to  reach  the 
cairn  on  the  top  of  Appenfell  taxed  all  their  strength. 
The  mountain  seemed  to  heave  before  them  a  successiou  of 


132  A    FAVOR. 

huge  shoulders,  and  each  one  that  they  surmounted  showed 
them  only  fresh  steeps  to  cihnb.  At  last  they  reached  the 
piled  confusion  of  rocks,  painted  with  every  gorgeous  and 
brilliant  color  by  emerald  moss  and  golden  lichen,  which 
marked  the  approach  to  the  summit  ;  and  Walter,  who 
was  a  long  way  the  first  to  get  to  the  top,  shouted  to  en- 
courage the  other  two,  and,  after  resting  a  few  minutes, 
clambered  down  to  assist  their  progress.  Being  accustomed 
to  the  hills,  he  was  far  less  tired  than  they  were,  and  could 
give  them  very  efficient  help. 

At  the  top  they  rested  for  some  time,  eating  their  scanty 
lunch,  chatting,  and  enjoying  the  matchless  splendor  of  the 
prospect  which  stretched  in  a  cloudless  expanse  before  them 
on  every  side. 

"  Power,"  said  Walter,  in  a  pause  of  then-  talk,  "  I've 
long  been  meaning  to  ask  you  a  favor." 

"  It's  granted  then,"  said  Power,  "  if  you  ask  it,  Walter." 
"  I'm  not  so  sure  ;  it's  a  very  serious  favor,  and  it  isn't 
for  myself;  moreover,  it's  very  cool." 

"  The  greater  it  is,  the  more  I  shall  know  that  you  trust 
my  friendship,  Walter  ;  and,  if  it's  cool,  it  suits  the  time 
and  place." 

"  Yet,  I  bet  you  that  you'll  hesitate  when  1  propose  it/ 
"  Well,  out  with  it  ;  you  make  me  curious." 
"  It   is   that   you'd   give  little  Eden   the   run  of  your 
Btudy." 

"  Little  Eden  the  run  of  my  study  1  Oh,  yes,  if  you 
wish,  it,"  said  Power,  not  liking  to  object  after  wha'  he  had 
said,  but  flushing  up  a  little,  involuntarily.  It  was  indeed 
a  great  favor  to  ask.  Power's  study  was  a  perfect  sanc- 
tum ;  he  had  furnished  it  with  such  rare  good  taste,  that, 
when  you  entered,  your  eye  was  attracted  by  some  pretty 
print  or  neat  contrivance  wherever  you  looked  It  was 
Power's  peculiar  pride  and  uleasure  to  beautify  :ds  littk 


one  another's  burdens.        133 

room,  and  to  sit  there  with  any  one  w  horn  he  liked  ;  but 
to  give  up  his  privacy,  and  let  a  little  scapegrace  like 
Eden  have  the  free  run  of  it,  was  a  proposition  which  took 
bin;  by  surprise.  Yet  it  was  a  good  deal  for  Power's  own 
sake  that  Walter  had  ventured  to  ask  it.  Power's  great 
fault  was  his  over-refinement ;  the  fastidiousness  which 
marred  his  proper  influence,  made  him  unpopular  with  many 
boys,  and  shut  him  up  in  a  reserved  and  introspective  habit 
of  mind.  By  a  kind  of  instinct,  Walter  felt  that  it  would 
be  good  to  disturb  this  epicurean  indifference  to  the  general 
interests  of  the  school,  and  the  kind  of  intellectualism  which 
weakened  the  character  of  this  attractive  and  affectionate, 
yet  shy  and  self-involved  boy. 

"  Ah,  I  see,"  said  Walter,  archly  ;  you're  as  bad  as 
Kenrick." 

"  But  I  don't  see  what  I  could  do  for  him,"  said  Power; 
"  I  shouldn't  know  what  to  talk  to  him  about." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  would  ;  you  don't  know  how  his  gratitude 
would  pay  you  for  the  least  interest  shown  in  him.  He's 
been  so  shamefully  bullied,  poor  little  chap,  I  hardly  like 
to  tell  you  even  the  things  that  that  big  brute  Harpour 
has  made  him  do.     He  came  here  bright  and  neat,  and 

merry   and   innocent ;    and   now " He   would    not 

finish  the  sentence,  and  his  voice  faltered  ;  but  checking 
himself,  he  added,  more  calmly — "  This,  remember,  haa 
been  done  to  the  poor  little  fellow  here,  at  St.  Winifred's  ; 
and  when  I  remember  what  I  might  have  been  myself  by 
this  time,  but  for — but  for  one  or  two  friends,  my  heart 
quite  bleeds  for  him.  Anyhow,  I  think  one  ought  to  do 
what  one  can  for  him.  I  wish  I'd  a  study,  I  know,  and  he 
shouldn't  be  the  only  little  fellow  who  should  share  it.  Fv« 
got  so  much  good  from  being  able  to  learn  my  own  lessons 
in  Percival's  room,  that  I'd  give  anything  to  be  able  to  dfl 
as  much  for  some  one  else." 


134  A.   NEW    DUTY. 

"  He  shall   come,  Walter,"  said  Power,  "  with  all  my 
neart.    I'll  ask  him  directly  we  get  back  to  St.  Winifred's." 

"  Will  you  ?     I  thank  you.     That  is  good  of  you  ;  I'm 
sure  you  won't  be  sorry  in  the  long  run." 

Power  and  Kenrick  were  both  thinking  that  this  new 
friend  of  theirs,  though  he  had  been  so  short  a  time  at  St. 
Winifred's  was  teaching  them  some  valuable  lessons 
Neither  of  them  had  previously  recognized  the  truth  whi2h 
Walter  seemed  to  feel  so  strongly,  that  they  were  to  some 
extent  directly  responsible  for  the  opportunities  which  they 
lost  of  helping  and  strengthening  the  boys  around  them. 
Neither  of  them  had  ever  done  anything,  worth  speaking 
of,  to  lighten  the  heavy  burden  laid  on  some  of  the  little 
boys  at  St.  Winifred's  ;  aud  now  they  heard  Walter  talk- 
ing with  something  like  remorse  about  a  child,  who  had  no 
special  claim  whatever  ou  his  kindness,  but  whom  he  felt 
that  he  might  more  efficiently  have  rescued  from  evil  asso- 
ciates, evil  words,  evil  ways,  and  all  the  heart-misery  they 
cannot  fail  to  bring.  The  sense  of  a  new  mission,  a  neg- 
lected duty  dawned  upon  them  both. 

They  sate  for  a  time  silent,  aud  then  Kenrick,  shaking 
off  his  reverie,  pointed  down  the  hill  and  said — 

"  Do  look  at  those  magnificent  clouds  ;  how  they  come 
surging  up  the  hill  in  huge  curving  masses." 

"  Yes,"  said  Power  ;  "  doesn't  it  look  like  a  grand  charge 
of  giant  cavalry  ?  Why,  Walter,  my  dear  fellow,  how 
frightened  you  look." 

"  Well,  no,"  said  Walter,  "  not  frightened.  But  I  say, 
you  two,  supposing  those  clouds  which  have  gathered  sc 
suddenly  don't  clear  away,  do  you  think  that  you  could 
find  your  way  clown  the  hill  ?" 

"  I  don't  kuow  ;  I  almost  think  so,"  said  Kenrick,  du- 
biously. 

"  Ah,  Ken,  I  suspect  you  haven't  had  as  much,  experi 


CLOUDS.  135 

encc  of  mountain-mists  as  I  have.  "We  may  find  our  way 
Bomehow  ;  but " 

"  You  mean,"  said  Power,  with  strange  calmness,  "  that 
there  are  lots  of  precipices  about,  and  that  shepherds  have 
several  times  been  lost  on  these  hills  ?" 

"  Let's  hope  that  the  mist  will  clear  away,  then,"  said 
Walter  ;  "  anyhow,  let's  get  on  the  grass,  and  off  these 
awkward  boulders,  before  we  are  surrounded." 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Kenrick  ;  "  charges  of  cloud-ea  «- 
airy  are  all  very  well  in  their  way  ;  but " 


CHAPTER  THE  FIFTEENTH. 

IN   THE    CLOUDS. 

THE  three  boys  scrambled  with  all  their  spejcl,  Walfcei 
helping  the  other  two  down  the  vast  prime!  al  heap 
of  many-tinted  rock-fragments  which  form  the  huge 
summit  of  Appenfell,  and  found  themselves  again  on  the 
short  slippery  grass,  hardened  with  recent  frosts,  that 
barely  covered  the  wave-like  sweep  of  the  hill-side.  Mean- 
while the  vast,  dense  masses  of  white  cloud  gathered  below 
them,  resting  here  and  there  in  the  hollows  of  the  moun- 
tains like  gigantic  walls  and  bastions,  and  leaning  against 
the  abrupter  face  of  the  precipice  in  one  great  unbroken 
barrier  of  opaque,  immaculate,  impenetrable  pearl.  As 
you  looked  upon  it,  the  chief  impression  it  gave  you  was 
one  of  immense  thickness  and  crushing  weight.  It  seemed 
so  compressed  and  impermeable  that  one  could  not  fancy 
how  even  a  thunderbolt  could  shatter  it,  or  the  wildest 
blast  of  any  hurricane  dissipate  its  enormous  depth.  But 
as  yet  it  had  not  enveloped  the  peaks  themselves.  On 
them  the  sun  yet  shone,  and  where  the  boys  stood  they 
were  still  bathed  in  the  keen  yet  blue  and  sunny  air,  islanded 
far  up  above  the  noiseless  billows  of  surging  cloud. 

This  was  not  for  long.  Gradually,  almost  impercepti- 
bly, the  clouds  stole  upon  them — reached  out  white  arms 
and  enfolded  them  in  sudden  whirls  of  thin  and  smoke- like 
mist ;  eddied  over  their  heads  and  round  their  feet ; 
swathed  them  at  last  as  in  a  funeral  pall,  blotting  from 
their  sight  every  object  save  wreaths  of  dank  vapor,  ren« 
dering  wholly  uncertain  the  direction  in  which   they  trera 

188 


IN    THE    CLOUDS.  137 

moving,  and  giving  a  sense  of  doubt  and  danger  to  every 
step  they  took.  Kenrick  had  only  told  the  master  who 
had  given  them  leave  of  absence  from  dinner  that  they 
meant  to  go  a  long  walk.  He  had  not  mentioned  Appen- 
fell,  not  from  any  want  of  straightforwardness,  but  because 
they  thought  that  it  might  sound  like  a  vainglorious  at- 
tempt, and  they  did  not  want  to  talk  about  it  until  they 
had  really  accomplished  it.  But  in  truth  if  they  had  men- 
tioned this  as  their  destination,  no  wise  master  would  have 
given  them  permission  to  go,  unless  they  promised  to  be 
accompanied  by  a  guide  ;  for  the  ascent  of  Appenfell,  dan- 
gerous even  in  summer  to  all  but  those  who  well  knew  the 
features  of  the  mountain,  became  in  winter  a  perilous  and 
foolhardy  attempt.  The  boys  themselves,  when  they 
started  on  their  excursion,  had  no  conception  of  the 
amount  or  extent  of  the  risk  they  ran.  Seeing  that  the 
morning  gave  promise  of  a  bright  and  clear  day,  they  had 
never  thought  of  taking  iuto  account  the  possibility  of 
mists  and  storms. 

The  position  in  which  they  now  fonnd  themselves  was 
enough  to  make  a  stout  heart  quail.  By  this  time  they 
were  hopelessly  enveloped  in  palpable  clouds,  and  could  not 
Bee  the  largest  objects  a  yard  before  them.  In  fact,  even 
to  see  each  other  they  had  to  keep  closely  side  by  side  ;  for 
once,  when  Kenrick  had  separated  from  them  for  a  little 
distance,  it  was  only  by  the  sound  of  his  shouts  that  they 
found  him  again.  After  tins  they  crept  on  in  perfect  si- 
lence, each  trying  to  conceal  from  the  other  the  terror 
which  lay  like  frost  on  his  own  spirits  ;  unsuccessfully,  for 
the  tremulous  sound  which  the  quick  palpitation  of  their 
hearts  gave  to  their  breathing  showed  plainly  enougli 
that  all  three  of  them  recognized  the  frightfulness  of  their 
danger. 

Appenfell  was  one  of  those  mountains,  not  unfrequent, 


138  THE   KAZOK. 

which  is  on  one  side  abrupt  and  bounded  by  a  wall  of  al 
most  fathomless  precipice,  and  on  the  other  descends  to 
the  plain  in  a  cataract  of  billowy  undulations.  It  had  one 
feature  which,  although  peculiar,  is  by  no  means  unprece- 
dented At  one  point,  where  the  huge  rock  wall  towers 
up  from  the  ghastly  depth  of  a  broad  ravine,  there  is  a 
lateral  ridge — not  unlike  the  Mickledore  of  Scawfell  Pikes 
— running  right  across  the  valley,  and  connecting  Appen- 
fell  with  Bardlyn,  another  hill  of  much  lower  elevation, 
towards  which  this  ridge  runs  down  with  a  long  but  gra- 
dual slope.  This  edge  was  significantly  called  the  Razor, 
and  it  was  so  narrow  that  it  would  barely  admit  the  pas- 
sage of  a  single  person  along  its  summit.  It  was  occasion- 
ally passed  by  a  few  shepherds,  accustomed  from  earliest 
childhood  to  the  hills,  but  no  ordinary  traveller  ever 
dreamed  of  braving  its  real  dangers,  for,  even  had  the 
path  been  broader,  the  horrible  depth  of  fall  on  either  side 
was  quite  sufficient  to  render  dizzy  the  steadiest  head, 
and  if  a  false  step  were  taken,  the  result,  to  a;  absolute 
certainty,  was  frightful  death.  For  so  r.arly  perpendicu- 
lar were  the  sides  of  this  curious  partition,  that  the  narrow 
valley  below,  offering  no  temptation  to  any  one  to  visit  it, 
had  not  been  trodden  by  any  human  foot.  To  add  to  the 
horror  inspired  by  the  Razor,  a  shepherd  had  recently 
fallen  from  it  in  a  summer  storm  ;  his  body  had  been 
abandoned  as  unrecoverable,  and  the  ravens  and  wild  cats 
had  fed  upon  liim. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  we  are  on  the  right  path,  Walter  ?" 
asked  Power,  trying  to  speak  as  cheerfully  and  indifferently 
us  he  could. 

"  Certain,"  said  Walter,  pulling  out  of  his  pocket  the 
little  brass  pocket-compass  which  had  been  his  invariable 
companion  hi  his  rambles  at  home,  and  which  he  had  fortu- 
oa:ely  brought  with  him  as  likely  to  be  useful  in  the  loueh 


DANGER.  139 

tracts  which  surrounded  St.  Winifred's.  '■  The  bay  lies 
due  west  from  here,  and  I'm  sure  of  the  general  direction." 

"  But  I  think  we're  keeping  too  much  to  the  right, 
Walter,"  said  Keurick. 

"Look  here,"  said  Walter,  stopping;  "the  truth  is — 
and  we  may  just  as  well  be  ready  for  it — that  we're  be* 
tween  two  dangers.  On  the  right  is  Bardlyn  rift ;  on  the 
left  we  have  the  sides  of  Appenfell,  and  no  precipices, 
but" 

"  I  know  what  you're  thinking  of — the  old  mines." 

"  Yes  ;  that's  why  I've  been  keeping  to  the  right.  I 
think  even  in  this  mist  we  could  hardly  go  over  the  rift,  for 
I  fancy  that  we  could  at  least  discover  when  wre  were  get- 
ting close  to  it ;  but  there  are  three  or  four  old  mines  ;  we 
don't  know  in  the  least  where  they  lie  exactly,  and  one 
might  stumble  over  one  of  the  shafts  in  a  minute." 

"  What  in  the  world  shall  we  do  ?"  said  Power,  stopping, 
as  he  realised  the  full  intensity  of  peril.  "  As  it  is  we  can't 
Bee  where  we're  going,  and  very  soon  we  shall  have  dark- 
ness as  well  as  mist.  Besides,  it's  so  frightfully  cold,  now 
that  we  are  obliged  to  go  slowly." 

"  Let's  stop  and  consider  what  we'd  best  do,"  said  Ken- 
rick.     "  Walter,  what  do  you  say  ?" 

"  We  can  only  do  one  of  two  things.  Either  go  on,  and 
trust  to  God's  mercy  to  keep  us  safe,  or  sit  still  here  and 
hope  that  the  mist  may  clear  away." 

"  That  last'll  never  do,"  answered  Kenrick  ;  "  I've  seen 
the  mist  rest  on  Appenfell  for  days  and  dayT  r 

"  Besides,"  said  Power,  "  unless  we  move  on,  at  all  ha* 
Bards,  night  will  be  on  us.  A  December  night  on  Appen- 
fell, without  food  or  extra  coverings,  and  the  chance  of 

being  kept  indefinitely  longer" The  sentence  ended 

in  a  shudder. 

"  Yes ;  I  don't  know  what  we  shoidd  look  like  iu  the 


i4o  " stop  r 

rnornina;,"  said  Kenrick.     "  Let's  move  cm  at  all  events 
better  that  than  the  chance  of  being  frozen  and  starved  to 
death." 

They  moved  on  again  a  little  way  through  the  clouds 
with  uncertain  and  hesitating  steps,  when  suddenly  Walter 
cried  out  in  an  agitated  voice,  "  Stop  1  God  only  knows 
where  we  are.  I  feel  by  a  kind  of  instinct  that  we're  some- 
where near  the  rift.  I  don't  know  what  else  should  make 
me  tremble  all  over  as  I  am  doiug  ;  I  seem  to  hear  the 
rift  somehow.  For  God's  sake  stop.  Just  let's  sit  down 
a  minute  till  I  try  something." 

"  But  it's  now  nearly  four  o'clock,"  said  Kenrick,  in  a 
querulous  tone,  as  he  halted  and  pulled  out  his  watch,  hold- 
ing it  close  to  his  face  to  make  out  the  time.  "  An  hour 
more  and  all  daylight  will  be  gone,  and  with  it  all  chance 
of  beiDg  saved.  Surely  we'd  better  press  on.  That's  uncer- 
tain danger,  but  to  stop  is  certain" 

"  Certain  death,"  whispered  Power. 

"  Just  listen  then,  one  second,"  said  Walter  ;  and,  dis- 
embeddiug  a  huge  piece  of  stone,  he  rolled  it  with  all  lus 
force  to  their  right,  listening  with  senses  acutely  sharpened 
by  danger  and  excitement.  The  stone  bounded  once,  then 
they  heard  in  their  ears  a  rush,  a  shuffling  of  loose  stones 
aud  sliding  earth,  the  whirring  sound  of  a  heavy  falling 
body,  and  then  for  several  seconds  a  succession  of  distant 
crashes,  startling  with  fright  the  rebounding  mountain 
echoes,  as  the  bit  of  rock  whirled  over  the  rift  and  was 
shattered  into  fragments  by  being  dashed  against  the  sides 
of  the  precipice. 

"  Good  God  !"  cried  Walter,  clutching  both  the  boys 
aud  dragging  them  hurriedly  backwards,  "  we  are  standing 
at  this  moment  on  the  very  verge  of  the  chasm.  It  won't 
do  to  go  on  ;  every  step  may  be  death." 

A   pause   of  a'most   unspeakable   hefror   followed  his 


DESPAIE.  141 

words  ;  after  the  fall  of  the  rock  had  revealed  to  them  hoMt 
frightful  was  the  peril  which  they  had  escaped,  all  three 
of  them  for  a  moment  felt  paralyzed  in  every  limb,  and 
after  looking  close  into  each  other's  faces,  blanched  white 
by  a  deadly  fear,  Kenrick  and  Power  sat  down  in  an  agony 
of  despair 

"  Don't  give  way,  you  fellows,"  said  Walter,  to  whom 
they  both  seemed  to  look  for  help  ;  "  our  only  chance  is  to 
keep  up  our  hope  and  spirits.  I  think  that,  after  all,  we 
must  just  stay  here  till  the  mist  clears  up.  Don't  be  fright- 
ened, Ken,"  he  said,  taking  the  boy's  hand  ;  "  nothing  can 
happen  to  us  but  what  God  intends." 

''  But  the  night,"  whispered  Kenrick,  who  was  most 
overpowered  of  the  three  ;  "  fancy  a  night  spent  here. 
Mist  and  cold,  hunger  and  dark.  0  this  horrible  uncer- 
tainty and  suspense.  O  for  some  light,"  he  cried  in  an 
agony  ;  "  1  could  almost  die  if  we  had  but  light." 

"  0  God,  give  us  light  1"  murmured  Walter,  echoing  the 
words,  and  uttering  aloud  unconsciously  his  intense  prayer; 
and  then  he  fell  on  his  knees,  and  the  others,  too,  hid  their 
faces  in  their  hands  as  they  stood  upon  the  bleak  mountain 
side,  and  prayed  to  Him  whom  they  knew  to  be  near  them, 
though  they  were  there  alone,  and  saw  nothing  save  the 
ground  they  knelt  upon,  and  the  thick  clammy  fog  moving 
slowly  around  and  above  them  in  aimless  and  monotonous 
change. 

And  soon,  as  though  their  passionate  prayer  had  been 
heard,  and  an  angel  had  been  sent  to  rend  the  mist,  the 
wind  rushing  up  from  the  ravine,  tore  for  itself  a  narrow 
passage,  and  a  gleam  of  waving  light  broke  in  upon  them 
through  the  white  folds  of  that  deathful  curtain,  showing 
them  the  wall  of  sunken  precipice  and  the  dark  outline  of 
Bardlyn  hill.  If  this  had  been  a  moment  in  which  they 
could  have  admired  one  of  Nature's  most  awfully  majestic 
Bights,  they  would  have  gazed  with  enthusiastic  joy  on  the 


142  A   SUGGESTION. 

diorama  of  valley  and  mountain  revealed  through  this  mighty 
rent  in  the  side  of  their  misty  pavilion,  filled  up  by  the 
blue  far-ofl'  sky  ;  but  at  this  moment  of  dominant  terror 
they  had  no  room  fcr  any  other  thoughts  but  how  to  save 
their  lives  from  the  danger  that  surrounded  them. 

"  Light  1"  cried  Walter,  springing  up  eagerly;  "  thank 
God  !  Perhaps  the  mist  is  goiug  to  clear  away."  But  the 
hope  was  fallacious  ;  for  in  the  direction  where  their  path 
lay  all  was  still  dark,  and  the  chilly  mist  soon  closed  again, 
though  not  so  densely,  over  the  wound  which  the  breeze 
from  the  chasm  below  them  had  momentarily  made. 

"Did  you  see  that  we  are  close  to  the  Razor  1"  said 
Walter,  who  alone  of  the  three  maintained  his  usual  cour- 
age, because  custom  had  made  him  more  familiar  with  the 
danger  of  the  hills.  "  Now  a  thought  strikes  me,  Ken  and 
Power.  If  you  like  we'll  make  an  attempt  to  cross  the 
Razor.  The  only  thing  will  be  not  to  lose  one's  footing  ; 
one  can't  miss  the  way  at  any  rate  ;  and  when  once  we 
get  to  Bardlyn,  it's  as  easy  to  get  down  to  the  road 
which  runs  round  it  to  St.  Winifred's  as  it  is  to  walk  across 
the  school  court." 

"  Cross  the  Razor  1"  said  Kenrick.  "  Why,  none  but 
some  few  shepherds  ever  dare  to  do  that." 

1  True  ;  but  what  man  has  done,  man  can  do.  I'm  cer- 
tain it's  our  best  chance." 

"  Not  for  me  ;"  "  Or  for  me,"  said  the  other  two. 

"  Well,  look  here,"  said  Walter  ;  it  would  be  very  dan- 
gerous, of  course,  but  while  we  talk  our  chance  of  safety 
lessens.  You  two  stay  here.  I'll  try  the  Razor  ;  if  I  get 
Bate  across  I  shall  reach  Bardlyn  village  in  no  time,  and 
there  I  could  get  some  men  to  come  and  help  you  over.  Dc 
f  ou  mind  ?     I  won't  leave  you  if  you'd  rather  not. 

"  Oh,  Walter,  Walter,  don't  run  the  risk  !"  said  Power; 
u  it's  too  awful." 

"  It's  lighter  thai   ever  on  that  side,"  said  Walter.     "  I'm 


RUNNING   THE    ItlSK.  143 

not  a  bit  afraid.  "  I'm  certain  we  could  not  get  safe  down 
the  other  way,  and  we  should  die  of  exposure  if  we  spent 
the  night  here.  Remember,  we've  only  had  one  or  two 
sandwiches  apiece.     It's  the  last  chajice." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  really  shan't,  dear  Walter.  You  don't 
know  how  terrific  the  Razor  is.  I've  often  heard  men  say 
that  they  wouldn't  cross  it  for  a  bag  of  gold,"  said  Power 

"  Don't  hinder  me,  Power  ;  Pve  made  up  my  mind, 
Good-bye,  Power;  good-bye,  Ken,"  he  said,  wringing  their 
bauds  hard.  "  If  I  get  safe  across  the  Razor,  I  shan't  be 
more  than  an  hour  and  a  half,  at  the  very  latest,  before  1 
stand  here  with  you  again,  bringing  help.  Good-bye.  God 
bless  you  both  !     Pray  for  me,  but  don't  fear." 

So  saying,  Walter  tore  himself  away  from  them,  and  with 
an  awful  sinking  at  heart  they  saw  him  pass  through  the 
spot  where  the  mist  was  thinnest,  and  plant  a  steady  step 
on  the  commencement  of  the  Razor  path. 


CHAPTER  THE   SIXTEENTH. 

ON   THE    RAZOR, 

THE  brave  boy  knew  well  that  the  fate  of  the  olher^ 
as  well  as  his  own,  hung  on  his  coolness  and  steadi- 
ness, and  stopping  for  one  moment  to  see  that  he 
would  hare  light  enough  to  make  sure  of  his  footing  all 
along  the  path,  he  turned  round,  shouted  a  few  cheery 
words  to  his  friends,  and  stepped  boldly  on  the  ledge. 

He  was  accustomed  to  giddy  heights,  and  his  head  had 
never  turned  as  he  looked  down  the  cliffs  at  St.  Winifred's, 
or  the  valleys  at  home.  But  his  heart  began  to  beat  verv 
last  with  the  painful  sense  that  every  step  which  he  accom- 
plished was  dangerous,  and  that  the  nerve  which  would 
readily  have  borne  him  through  a  brief  effort  would  here 
have  to  be  sustained  for  fully  twenty  minutes,  which  would 
be  the  least  possible  time  in  which  he  could  make  the 
transit.  The  loneliness,  too,  was  frightful.  In  three  minutes 
he  was  out  of  sight  of  his  friends  ;  and  to  be  there  without 
a  companion,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  mighty  mountains, 
traversing  this  haunted  and  terrible  path,  with  not  an  eye 
to  see  him  if  he  should  slip  and  be  dashed  to  atoms  on  the 
unconscious  rocks.  This  thought  almost  overmastered  Inm, 
unmanned  him,  filled  him  with  a  weird  sense  of  indescrib- 
able horror.  He  battled  against  it  with  all  his  might,  but 
it  came  on  him/  like  a  foul  harpy,  again  and  again,  sicken- 
ing his  whole  soul,  making  his  forehead  glisten  with  the 
damp  dews  of  anticipated  death.  At  last  he  came  to  a 
itunted  wiliow  which  had  twisted  its  dry  roots  into  the  thin 
tioil,  and,  clinging  to  the  stem  of  it  with  both  arms,  he  was 

14* 


<lTHE   EDGE   OF    HAZARD."  145 

forced  to  stop  and  close  his  eyes  ;  and,  praying  for  God's 
help,  he  summoned  together  all  the  faculties  of  his  soul, 
and  buffeted  this  ghastly  intruder  away  so  thoroughly  that 
it  did  not  again  return.  And  then,  opening  his  eyes,  he 
bore  steadily  and  cautiously  on,  till  all  of  a  sudden,  in  the 
fast-fading  sunlight,  something  glinted  white  in  the  valley 
beneath  his  feet.  In  a  moment  it  flashed  upon  him  that 
this  was  the  unreached  skeleton,  a  thousand  feet  below,  the 
sight  of  which  imparted  a  superstitious  horror  to  the  Devil's 
Way,  as  the  peasants  called  the  narrow  path  along  the 
Razor.  Nor  was  this  all  ;  for  some  rags  of  the  man's 
dress,  torn  off  by  his  headlong  fall,  still  fluttered  on  a 
stump  of  blackthorn  not  thirty  feet  below.  And  now 
again  the  poor  boy's  heart  quailed  with  an  uncontrollable 
emotion  of  physical  and  mental  fear.  For  a  moment  he 
tottered  ;  every  nerve  was  loosened  ;  his  legs  bent  under 
him,  and,  dropping  down  on  his  knees,  he  clutched  the 
ground  with  both  hands.  It  was  just  one  of  those  swift 
spasms  of  emotion,  on  which,  in  moments  of  peril,  the 
crisis  usually  depends. 

He  shut  his  eyes  and  cluug  with  tenacious  grasp  to  the 
earth.  Happily  his  mind  was  strong,  his  conscience  stain- 
less, Ins  powers  vigorous,  his  body  in  pure  health,  and  in 
a  few  moments,  which  seemed  to  him  an  age,  he  had  re- 
covered his  presence  of  mind  by  one  of  those  noble  efforts 
which  the  will  is  ever  ready  to  make  for  those  who  train 
it  right.  Before  lie  opened  his  eyes  he  had  braced  him- 
self into  a  thorough  strength,  and  once  more  commending 
himself  to  God,  he  rose,  firm  and  cool,  to  continue  his  jonr- 
ney,  averting  his  glance  from  the  spectacle  of  death  which 
gleamed  below. 

He  found  that  his  best  plan  was  to  fix  his  eyes  rigidly  on 
the  path,  and  not  suffer  them  to  swerve  for  a  moment  to 
#ither  side      Whenever  he  did  so,  the  wavering  sensation 

1 


146  BARDLYN 

came  over  him  again  ;  but  so  long  as  ho  trod  carefully, 
and  never  let  his  eyes  wander  off  the  place  of  his  footsteps, 
he  found  that  he  got  along  securely,  and  even  swiftly.  He 
had  only  one  more  difficulty  with  which  to  contend.  Ir 
one  place  the  sort  of  path  which  the  Razor  presented  waa 
broken  and  crumbled  away,  and  here  Walter's  heart  again 
sank  despairing  within  him,  as  his  attention  was  suddenly 
arrested  by  the  additional  and  unexpected  peril.  But  to 
turn  back  was  now  out  of  the  question  ;  and  as  it  seemed 
impossible  to  walk  for  these  few  feet,  he  again  knelt  dowr 
and  crawled  steadily  along  on  hands  and  knees,  about  the 
length  of  two  strides,  until  the  path  was  hard  and  firm 
enough  for  him  to  proceed  as  before.  The  end  was  now 
accomplished  In  five  minutes  more  he  sprang  on  the 
broad  firm  side  of  Bardlyn  hill,  and  shouting  aloud  to  re- 
lieve his  spirits  from  their  tumult  of  joy  and  thankfulness, 
he  raced  down  Bardlyn,- gained  very  quickly  the  mountain 
road,  and  ran  at  the  top  of  his  speed  till,  just  as  the  sun 
was  setting,  he  reached  the  group  of  cottages  which  took 
their  name  from  the  hill  on  which  they  stood. 

Knocking  at  the  first  cottage,  he  inquired  for  some  guide 
or  shepherd  who  was  thoroughly  acquainted  with  all  the 
mountain  paths,  and  was  directed  to  the  house  of  a  man 
named  Giles,  who  had  been  occupied  for  years  among  the 
neighboring  sheep-walks. 

Giles  listened  to  his  story  with  open  eyes.  "  Thee  bi'st 
eoora  over  t'  Razor  along  Devil's  Way,"  said  he,  in  amaze- 
ment ;  "  then  thee  bi'st  just  the  plookiest  young  chap  I've 
seen  for  many  a  day." 

*'  We  must  get  back  over  it,  too,  to  reach  them,"  said 
Walter. 

"  O  aye  ;  Jbe'ant  afear'd  of  t'  Razor  ;  I've  crossed  him 
many  a  time,  and  I'll  take  a  bit  of  rope  over  and  help  they 
other  chaps.     We'll  take  a  lantern,  too.     Don't  vou  be 


BY    MOONLIGHT.  14/* 

afeared,  sir,  we'll  get  'em  all  right,"  he  said,  observing  how 
anxious  and  excited  Walter  seemed  to  be. 

"  Come,  then,"  said  Walter,  "  quick,  quick.  I  promised 
to  come  back  to  them  at  once.  You  shall  be  well  paid  foi 
your  trouble." 

'*  Tut,  tut,"  said  the  man,  "  the  pay's  naught.  Why  I'd 
come  if  it  were  only  a  dumb  sheep  in  danger,  let  alone  a 
brace  of  lads  like  you." 

They  set  off  with  a  lantern,  a  rope,  and  some  food,  and 
Giles  was  delighted  at  the  quick  and  elastic  step  of  the 
young  mountaineer.  The  lantern  they  soon  extinguished. 
It  was  not  needed  ;  for  though  the  sun  had  now  set,  a  glo- 
rious full  moon  had  begun  to  pour  her  broad  flood  of  silver 
radiance  over  the  gloomy  hills  by  the  time  they  had  reached 
Bardlyn  rift. 

"  There  ain't  no  call  for  you  to  cross  again,  sir,"  said  the 
man  ;  "  I'll  just  go  over  by  myself,  and  look  after  the  young 
gentlemen." 

"  O  let  me  come,  I  must  come,"  said  Walter  ;  "  the  mist's 
quite  off  it  now,  so  that  it's  just  as  easy  under  this  moon- 
light as  when  I  came  ;  and,  besides,  if  you  take  a  coil  of 
rope  in  your  hand  I'll  take  hold  of  the  other  end." 

"  Well,  you're  the  right  sort,  and  no  mistake,"  said  the 
man.  "  God  bless  you  for  a  brave  young  heart.  And, 
truth  tell,  I'll  be  very  glad  to  have  ye  with  me,  for  they  do 
say  as  how  poor  old  Waul's  ghost  haunts  about  here,  and 
it  'ud  be  fearsome  at  night.  I  know  that  there's  One  as 
Keeps  them  as  has  a  good  conscience,  but  yet  I'll  be  glad 
to  have  ye  all  the  same." 

The  moonlight  flung  on  every  side  the  mysterious  and 
gigantic  shadows  of  rocks  ana  hills,  seeming  to  glimmer 
with  a  ghastly  hue  as  it  fell  and  struggled  into  the  black 
depths  of  the  untrodden  rift  ;  but  habit  made  the  Devil's 
Wav  seem  nothing  to  the  mountain  shepherd,  and  he  pro- 


148  STARTLING. 

tected  Walter  (who  twined  round  his  wrist  one  end  of  tli€ 
rope)  from  the  danger  of  stumbling,  as  effectually  as  Wal- 
ter protected  him  from  all  ghostly  fears.  When  they 
reached  the  broken  piece,  the  only  difference  he  made  was 
to  walk  with  great  caution,  and  to  plant  his  feet  deeply  into 
the  earth,  bidding  Walter  follow  in  the  traces  he  made, 
and  supporting  him  firmly  with  his  hand.  They  got  across 
fin  much  less  time  than  Walter  had  occupied  in  his  first 
passage,  and  as  they  reached  Appenfell  they  saw  the  two 
boys  standing  dimly  on  the  verge  of  the  moonlit  mist,  while 
all  below  them  the  rest  of  Appenfell  was  still  wrapt,  as  in 
some  great  cerecloth,  by  the  snowy  folds  of  seething  cloud. 

"Good  heavens  I  but  who  are  those  ?"  said  Walter  point- 
ing to  two  shadowy  and  gigantic  figures  which  also  faced 
them.  "  0,  who  are  those  ?"  he  asked  wildly,  and  in  such 
alarm  that  if  the  shepherd  had  not  seized  him  firmly  he 
must  have  fallen. 

"  There,  there — don't  be  frighted,"  said  Giles  ;  "  those 
be'ant  no  ghosts,  but  they  be  just  our  own  shadows  on  the 
mist.  It's  a  queer  thing,  but  I've  seen  it  often  and  often 
on  these  hills,  and  some  scholards  have  told  me  as  how  that 
kind  of  tiling  be'ant  uncommon  on  mountains." 

"  What  a  goose  I  was  to  be  so  horribly  frightened,"  said 
Walter  ;  "  but  I  didn't  know  that  there  were  any  spectres 
of  that  sort  on  Appenfell.     All  right,  Giles  ;  go  on." 

Till  Walter  and  the  shepherd  had  taken  their  last  step 
from  the  Devil's  Way  on  the  side  of  Appenfell,  the  boys 
Etood  watching  them  in  intense  silence  ;  but  no  sooner  were 
thc-y  safe,  than  Power  and  Kenrick  ran  up  to  Walter 
poured  out  their  eager  thanks,  and  pressed  his  hands  in  all 
the  fervor  of  affectionate  gratitude.  They  felt  that  his 
nourage  and  readiness  had,  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life,  saved 
them  from  such  a  danger  as  they  had  never  in  their  Uvea 
ixperieuced  before.     A-lready  they  were  suffering  with  hm> 


HELP  149 

ger  and  shuddering  with  the  December  air,  their  limbs  felt 
quite  benumbed,  their  teeth  were  chattering  lugubriously,, 
and  their  faces  were  blue  and  pinched  with  cold.  They 
eagerly  devoured  the  brown  bread  and  potato-cake  which 
the  man  had  brought,  and  let  him  and  Walter  chafe  a  little 
life  into  their  shivering  bodies.  By  this  time  fear  was  suf- 
ficiently removed  to  enable  them  to  feel  some  sort  of  appre- 
ciation of  the  wild  beauty  of  the  scene,  as  the  moonlight 
pierced  on  their  left  the  flitting  scuds  of  restless  mist,  and 
on  their  right  fell  softly  over  Bardlyu  hill  making  a  weird 
contrast  between  the  tender  brightness  of  the  places  where 
it  fell,  and  the  pitchy  gloom  that  hid  the  depths  of  the 
rift,  and  brooded  in  those  undefined  hollows  over  which 
the  precipices  leaned. 

To  return  clown  Appenfell  was  (the  experienced  shepherd 
informed  them),  quite  hopeless.  In  such  a  mist  as  that, 
which  might  last  for  an  indefinite  time,  even  he  would  be 
totally  unable  to  find  his  way.  But  now  that  they  were 
warm  and  satisfied  with  food,  and  confident  of  safety,  they 
even  enjoyed  the  feeling  of  adventure  when  Giles  tied  them 
together  for  their  return  across  the  Devil's  Way.  First  lie 
tied  the  rope  round  his  own  waist,  then  round  Power's  and 
Kcnrick's,  and  finally,  as  there  was  not  enough  left  to  go 
round  Walter's  waist,  he  tied  the  end  round  his  right  arm 
Thus  fastened,  all  danger  was  tenfold  diminished,  if  nol 
wholly  removed,  and  the  two  unaccustomed  boys  felt  a 
happy  reliance  on  the  nerve  and  experience  of  Giles  and 
Walter,  who  were  in  front  and  rear.  It  was  a  scene  which 
they  never  forgot,  as  the  four  went  step  by  step  through 
the  moonlight  along  the  horrible  ledge,  safe  only  in  each 
other's  help,  and  awestruck  at  their  position,  not  daring  to 
glance  aside  or  to  watch  the  colossal  grandeur  of  their  own 
shadows  as  they  were  flung  here  and  there  against  some 
protruding  rock.     Power  was  next  to  Walter,  and  when 


150  SAFE. 

they  reached  the  spot  beneath  which  the  whiteness  glinted 
and  the  rags  fluttered  in  the  wind,  Walter,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, could  not  help  glancing  down,  and  whispering  "  Look/' 
in  a  voice  of  awe.  Power  unhappily  did  look,  and  as  all 
the  boys  at  St  Winifred's  were  familiar  with  the  story  of 
the  shepherd's  fate,  and  had  even  known  the  man  himself, 
Power  at  once  was  seized  with  the  same  nervous  horror  which 
had  agitated  Walter — grew  dizzy,  stumbled,  and  slipped 
down,  jerking  Kenrick  to  his  knees  by  the  sudden  strain  of 
the  rope.  Happily  the  rope  checked  Power's  fall,  and 
Kenrick's  scream  of  horror  startled  Giles,  who,  without 
losing  his  presence  of  mind,  instantly  seized  Kenrick  with  an 
arm  that  seemed  as  strong  and  inflexible  as  if  it  had  been 
hammered  out  of  iron,  while  at  the  same  moment  Walter, 
conscious  of  his  rashness,  clutched  hold  of  Power's  hand 
and  raised  him  up.  No  word  was  spoken,  but  after  this 
the  boys  kept  close  to  their  guides,  who  were  ready  to  grasp 
them  tight  at  the  first  indication  of  an  uneven  footstep, 
and  who  almost  lifted  them  bodily  over  every  more  difficult 
or  slippery  part.  The  time  seemed  very  long  to  them,  but 
at  last  they  had  all  reached  Bardlyn  hill  in  safety,  and 
placed  the  last  step  they  ever  meant  to  place  on  the  narrow 
and  dizzy  passage  of  the  Razor's  edge. 

And  stopping  there  they  looked  back  at  the  dangers  they 
had  passed — at  Appenfell  piled  up  to  heaven  with  white 
clouds  ;  at  Bardlyn  rift  looming  iu  black  abysses  beneath 
them  ;  at  the  thin  broken  line  of  the  Devil's  Way. 

They  stood  silent  till  Power  said,  in  ejaculations  of  in- 
tense emphasis,  "  Thank  God  !"  and  then  pointing  down- 
wards with  a  shudder,  "  Oh,  Walter  !"  and  then  once 
again,  "Thank  God  !" — which  Walter  and  Kenrick  echoed; 
and  then  they  passed  on  without  another  word.  But  those 
two  words,  so  uttered,  were  enough. 

The  man,  who  was  more  than  repaid  by  the  sense  tha> 


A.T    HOME.  151 

he  had  rendered  them  a  most  important  aid,  and  who  had 
been  greatly  fascinated  by  their  manly  bearing,  entirely 
refused  to  take  any  money  in  payment  for  what  he  had  done, 

"  Nay,  nay,"  he  said  ;  "  we  poor  folks  are  proud  too, 
Find  I  won't  have  none  of  your  money,  young  gentlemen. 
But  let  me  tell  you  that  you've  had  a  very  narrow  escape 
of  your  lives  out  there,  and  I  don't  doubt  you'll  thank  the 
good  God  for  it  with  all  your  hearts  this  night  ;  and  if 
you'll  just  say  a  prayer  for  old  Giles  too,  he'll  vally  it  more 
tiian  all  your  monies.  So  now,  good  night  to  you,  young 
gentlemen,  for  you  know  your  way  now  easy  enough.  And 
if  ever  you  come  this  way  again,  maybe  you'll  come  in  and 
have  a  chat  for  remembrance  sake." 

"  Thank  you,  Giles,  that  we  will,"  said  the  boys. 

"  And  since  you  won't  take  any  money  you'll  let  me  give 
you  this,"  said  Walter.  "  You  must  let  me  give  you  this  , 
it's  not  worth  much,  but  it'll  show  you  that  Walter  Evson 
didn't  forget  the  good  turn  you  did  us."  And  he  forced 
on  the  old  shepherd's  acceptance  a  handsome  knife,  with 
several  strong  blades,  which  he  happened  to  have  in  his 
pocket  ;  while  Power  and  Kenrick,  after  a  rapid  whis- 
pered consultation,  promised  to  bring  him  in  a  few  days 
a  first  rate  plaid  to  serve  him  as  a  slight  reminder  of  their 
gratitude  for  his  ready  kindness.  Then  they  all  shook 
hands  with  many  thanks,  and  the  three  boys,  eager  to 
Qnd  sympathy  iu  their  perils  and  deliverance,  hastened  to 
St.  Winifred's,  which  they  reached  at  eight  o'clock,  just 
w  hex  their  absence  was  beginning  to  cause  the  most  serious 
anxiety. 

They  arrived  at  the  arched  gateway  as  the  boys  wero 
pouring  out  of  evening  chapel,  and  as  every  one  was  doubt- 
fully wondering  what  had  become  of  them,  and  whether 
'hey  had  encountered  any  serious  mishap.  When  the 
Famulus  admitted  them,  the  fellows  thronged  round  them 


152  WALTER    A    HEKO. 

in  crowds,  pouring  into  their  ears  a  succession  of  eager 
questions.  The  tale  of  Walter's  daring  act  flew  like  wild* 
fire  through  the  school,  and  if  any  one  still  Retained  against 
him  a  particle  of  ill-feeling,  or  looked  on  his  character 
with  suspicion,  it  was  this  evening  replaced  by  the  convic- 
tion that  there  was  no  more  noble  or  gallant  boy  than 
Walter  among  them,  and  that  if  any  equalled  him  in 
merit  it  was  one  of  those  whose  intimate  friendship  foj 
him  had  on  this  day  been  deepened  by  the  grateful  know 
ledge  that  to  him,  in  all  human  probability,  they  owed 
their  preservation  from  an  imminent  and  overpowering 
peril.  Even  Somers,  in  honor  of  whose  academic  laurel 
the  whole  holiday  had  been  given,  and  who  that  evening 
returned  from  Cambridge,  was  less  of  a  hero  than  either 
of  the  three  who  had  thus  climbed  the  peak  of  Appenfell 
and  braved  so  serious  an  adventure  ;  far  less  crowned  with 
schoolboy  admiration  than  the  young  boy  who  had  thrice 
crossed  and  recrossed  the  Devil's  Way,  and  who  had 
crossed  it  first  unaided  and  with  full  knowledge  of  its  hor- 
rors, while  the  light  of  winter  evening  was  dying  away, 
and  the  hills  around  him  reeked  like  a  witch's  caldron  with 
wintry  mists. 

Walter,  grateful  as  he  was  for  each  pat  on  the  back  and 
warm  pressure  of  the  hand,  which  told  him  how  thorouo-hlv 
and  joyously  his  doings  were  appreciated,  was  not  intoxi. 
cated  by  the  enthusiasm  of  this  boyish  ovation.  It  was 
indeed  a  proud  thing  to  stand  among  those  four  hundred 
schoolfellows,  the  observed  of  all  observe.-s.  greeted  on 
every  side  by  happy,  smiling,  admiring  faces,  with  every 
one  pressing  forward  to  give  him  a  friendly  grasp,  everv 
one  anxious  to  claim  or  to  form  his  acquaintance,  and  many 
addressing  him  with  the  kindliest  greetir  gs  whose  very  faces 
he  hardly  knew  ; — but  the  deeper  and  more  silent  gratitude 
tf  his  chosen  friends,  and  the  manly  sense  of  something 


IN    THE   COURT.  153 

bravely  and  rightly  done,  was  more  to  him  than  this.  Yet 
this  was  something  very  sweet.  When  the  admiration  of 
boys  is  fairly  kindled  it  is  the  brightest,  the  most  genial 
the  most  generously  hearty  in  the  wcrld.  Few  succeed  in 
winning  it ;  but  he  who  has  been  a  hero  to  others  in  man 
hood  only,  has  had  but  a  partial  taste  of  the  rich  triumph 
experienced  by  him  who  has  had  the  happiness  in  boyhood 
of  being  a  hero  among  boys. 

Uere  let  me  say  how  one  or  two  people  noticed  Walter 
when  they  first  saw  him  that  evening. 

While  numbers  of  boys  were  shaking  hands  with  him, 
whom  he  hardly  saw  or  recognised  in  the  crowd  by  the 
mingled  moonlight  and  lamplight  that  streamed  over  the 
court  where  they  stood,  Walter  felt  one  squeeze  that  he 
recognised  and  valued.  Looking  among  the  numerous 
faces,  he  saw  that  it  was  Henderson  who  was  greeting  him 
without  a  word.  No  nonsense  or  joke  this  time,  and  Wal- 
ter noticed  that  the  boy's  lips  were  trembling  with  emotion, 
and  that  there  was  a  light  as  of  tears  in  his  laughter-loving 
eyes. 

"  Ah,  Henderson  !"  said  Walter,  in  that  tone  of  real 
regard  and  pleasure  which  is  the  truest  sign  and  pledge 
of  friendship,  and  which  no  art  can  counterfeit,  "  I'm  so 
glad  to  see  you  again  :  how  did  you  and  Dubbs  get  on  ?" 

"  All  right,  Walter,"  said  Henderson  ;  "but  he's  gone 
to  bed  with  a  bad  headache.  Come  in  and  see  him  before 
you  go  to  bed.     I  know  he'd  like  to  say  good-night." 

11  Well  done,  Evson — well  done  indeed,"  was  the  remark 
of  Somers,  as  he  noticed  Walter  for  the  first  time  since  the 
scene  of  the  Private  Room. 

"  Excellent,  my  gallant  little  Walter,"  said  Mr.  Percival, 
as  he  passed  by.  Mr.  Paton,  who  was  with  him,  said 
nothing,  but  Walter  knew  all  that  he  would  have  expressed 
when  he  caught  his  quiet  approving  smile,  and  felt  his  ham) 

7* 


154  L»R.    LANE. 

rest  for  a  moment,  as  with  the  touch  of  Cliristain  blessing 
on  his  head. 

It  is  happiness  at  all  times  to  be  loved,  and  to  deserve 
the  love  ;  but  happiest  of  all  to  enjoy  it  after  sorrow  and 
Bin. 

"  Dr.  Lane  wants  you,"  said  the  Famulus,  just  in  time 
to  save  the  tired  boys  from  their  remorseless  questioners. 
They  went  at  once  to  the  head-master's  house.  He  re- 
ceived them  with  a  stately  yet  sincere  kindness ;  questioned 
them  on  the  occurrences  of  the  day  ;  warned  them  for  the 
future  against  excursions  so  liable  to  accident  as  the  winter 
ascent  of  Appenfell  ;  and  then  spoke  a  few  kindly  words 
to  each  of  them.  For  both  Kenrick  and  Power  he  had  a 
strong  personal  regard,  and  for  the  latter  especially  a  feel- 
ing closely  akin  to  friendship  and  affection.  After  they 
were  gone  he  kept  Walter  behind,  and  said,  "  I  am  indeed 
most  sincerely  rejoiced,  Evson,  to  meet  you  again  under 
circumstances  so  widely  different  from  those  in  which  I  saw 
you  last.  I  have  heard  for  some  time  past  how  greatly 
you  have  improved,  and  how  admirably  you  are  now  doing. 
I  am  glad  to  have  the  opportunity  of  assuring  you  myself 
how  entirely  you  have  succeeded  in  winning  back  my  ap> 
probation  and  esteem."  Walter  attended  with  a  glistening 
eye,  and  the  master  shook  hands  with  him  as  he  bowed  and 
silently  withdrew. 

"  Tea  has  been  ordered  for  you  in  Master  Power's  study, 
said  the  footman,  as  they  left  the  master's  house. 


CHAPTER  THE   SEVENTEENTH. 

THE    GOOD    RESOLVE. 

LET'S  come  and  see  Dubbs  before  tea,"  said  Walter,  or 
rejoining  the  other  two  ;  "  Henderson  told  me  he  was 
ill  in  bed,  poor  fellow." 

They  went  at  once  to  the  cottage,  detached  from  the  rest 
of  the  school  buildings,  to  which  all  invalids  were  removed, 
and  they  were  allowed  to  go  to  Daubeny's  room  ;  but,  al- 
though he  was  expecting  their  visit,  he  had  fallen  asleep 
They  noticed  a  worn  and  weary  expression  upon  his  coun- 
tenance, but  it  was  pleasant  to  look  at  him  ;  for  although 
he  was  a  very  ordinary-looking  boy,  with  somewhat  heavy 
features,  yet  whatever  beauty  can  be  infused  into  any  face 
by  honesty  of  purpose  and  innocence  of  heart,  was  to  be 
found  in  his  ;  and  you  could  not  speak  to  Daubeny  for  five 
minutes  without  being  attracted  by  the  sense  that  you  were 
talking  to  one  whose  character  was  singularly  free  irom 
falsehood  or  vanity,  and  singularly  unstained  by  evil 
thoughts. 

"  There  lies  one  of  the  best  and  worthiest  fellows  in  the 
school,"  whispered  Power,  as  he  raised  the  candle  to  look 
at  him. 

Low  as  he  had  spoken,  the  sound  awoke  the  sleepet. 
He  opened  his  eyes  dreamily  at  first,  but  with  full  recogni- 
tion afterwards,  and  said,  "  0  you  fellows,  I'm  so  delighted 
to  see  you  ;  when  I  saw  Henderson  last,  he  told  me  that 
you  hadn't  come  back,  and  that  people  were  beginning  ta 
fear  some  accident  ;  and  I  suppose  that's  the  reason  whj 

156 


L5t>  A   FIRESIDE   TALK. 

I've  been  dreaming  so  uneasily,  and  fancying  that  I  saw 
you  tumbling  down  the  rift,  and  all  kinds  of  things." 

"  Well,  we  were  very  near  it,  Dubbs  ;  but  thanks  to 
Walter,  we  escaped  all  right,"  said  Power. 

Daubeny  looked  up  inquiringly.  "  We  must  tell  you 
all  about  it  to-morrow,"  said  Power.  "  How  are  yon 
feeling  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  ;  not  very  well ;  but  it's  no  matter  ; 
I  dare  say  I  shall  be  all  right  soon." 

"  Hush,  you  young  gentlemen,"  said  the  nurse  ;  "  this'l] 
never  do  ;  you  oughtn't  to  have  awoke  Master  Daubeny 
just  as  he  was  sleeping  so  nice." 

"  Very  sorry,  nurse  ;  good  night,  Dubbs  •,  hope  you'll 
be  ail  right  to-morrow,"  said  they,  and  then  adjourned  to 
Power's  study. 

The  gas  was  lighted  in  the  pretty  little  room,  and  the 
matron,  regarding  them  as  heroes,  had  sent  them  a  very 
tempting  tea.  They  ate  it  almost  in  silence,  for  they  were 
quite  tired  out.  It  seemed  an  age  since  they  had  started 
in  the  morning  with  Henderson  and  Daubeny.  Directly 
tea  was  finished,  Kenrick,  exhausted  with  fatigue  and  ex- 
citement, fell  asleep  in  his  chair,  with  his  head  throwD 
back  and  his  lips  parted. 

"  There,  I  think  that's  a  sign  that  we  ought  to  be  go- 
ing to  bed,"  said  Walter,  laughing  as  he  pointed  at  him. 

"  0  no,"  said  Power,  "  not  yet ;  it's  so  jolly  sitting 
here  ;  don't  wake  him,  but  come  and  draw  your  chair  next 
to  mine  by  the  fire  and  have  a  chat." 

Walter  obeyed  the  invitation,  and  for  a  few  minutes  they 
both  sate  gazing  into  the  fire,  reading  faces  in  the  embers, 
and  pursuing  their  own  thoughts.  Each  of  them  was  happy 
;n  the  other's  presence  ;  and  Walter,  though  more  than  a 
year  Power's  junior,  and  far  below  him  in  the  school,  was 
delighted  with  the  sense  of  fully  possessing  in  the  friendship 


A    FIKESIDE   TALK.  157 

of  this  most  promising  and  gifted  boy,  a  treasure  which  anj 
one  in  the  world  might  well  have  envied  him. 

"  It's  been  a  strange  day,  hasn't  it,  Walter  ?"  said  Power 
at  last,  laying  his  hand  on  Walter's,  and  looking  at  him. 
"  I  shall  never  forget  it  ;  you  have  thrown  a  new  light  on 
one's  time  here." 

"  Have  I,  Power  ?     How  ?     I  didn't  know  it." 

"  Why,  on  the  top  of  Appenfell  there,  you  opened  my 
eyes  to  the  fact  that  I  have  been  living  here  a  very  selfish 
life.  I  know  that  I  get  the  credit  of  being  very  conceited 
and  exclusive,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  ;  but  being  natu- 
rally shy,  I  thought  it  better  to  keep  rather  aloof  from  all 
but  the  very  few  towards  whom  I  felt  at  all  drawn.  I  see 
now,"  he  said,  sadly,  "  that  at  the  bottom  this  was  mainly 
selfishness.  Why,  Walter,  all  the  time  I've  been  here,  I 
haven't  done  as  much  for  any  single  boy  as  you,  a  new  fel- 
low, have  done  for  little  Eden  this  one  half-year.  But 
there's  time  to  do  better  yet  ;  and  by  God's  help  I'll  try. 
I'll  give  Eden  the  run  of  my  study  to-morrow  ;  and  as 
there's  plenty  of  room,  I'll  look  out  for  some  other  little 
chap  who  requires  a  refuge  for  the  destitute." 

"  Thank  you,  for  Eden's  sake,"  said  Walter  ;  "  I'm  sure 
you'll  soon  begin  to  like  him,  if  he  gets  at  home  with 
you." 

"  But  that's  the  worst  of  it,"  continued  Power  ;  "  so  few 
ever  do  get  at  home  with  me.  I  suppose  my  manner's 
awkward — or  something  ;  but  I'd  give  anything  to  make 
fellows  friendly  in  five  minutes  as  you  do.  How  do  you 
manage  it  ?" 

"  I  really  don't  know  ;  I  never  think  about  my  own 
manner,  or  anything  else.  I  suppose  if  one  feels  the  least 
interest  in  any  fellow,  that  he  will  probably  feel  some  inter- 
3st  in  me  ;  and  so,  somehow,  I'm  on  the  best  terms  with  all 
I  care  to  know." 


158  A    GOOD    RESOLVE. 

"  Well,  Ken  and  I  had  a  long  talk  after  you  left  us,  tc 
cross  the  Devil's  Way  ;  and  I  hope  that  the  memory  of 
that  may  make  us  three  friends  firm  and  fast,  tender  and 
true,  as  long  as  we  live.  We  were  in  a  horrible  fright 
about  you  ;  and  I  suppose  that,  joined  to  our  own  danger, 
gave  a  solemn  cast  to  our  conversation  ;  but  we  agreed 
that  if  we  three,  as  friends,  were  united  in  the  silent  reso 
lution  to  help  others,  and  especially  new  fellows  and  young, 
as  much  as  ever  we  can,  we  might  do  a  great  deal.  Tell 
rae,  Walter,  didn't  you  find  it  a  very  hard  thing  wheu  you 
first  came,  to  keep  right  among  all  sorts  of  tempta- 
tions ?" 

"  Yes,  I  did,  Power,  very  hard  :  and  I  confess,  too,  that 
I  sometimes  wondered  that  not  ore  boy,  though  there  are, 
as  I  see  now,  lots  of  thoroughly  good  and  right  fellowa 
here,  ever  said  one  word,  or  did  one  thing  to  help  me." 

"  It's  all  wrong,  all  wrong,"  said  Power  ;  "  but  it  was 
you  first  who  made  me  see  it.  Walter,  I  shall  pray  to- 
night that  God,  who  has  kept  us  safe,  may  teach  and  help 
us  here  to  live  less  for  ourselves.  Who  knows  what  we 
might  not  do  for  the  school  ?" 

"  But  you  seem  to  aim  higher  than  I  do,  Power,"  said 
Walter  ;  "  I  certainly  found  lots  of  wickedness  going  ou 
tere,  but  I  never  hoped  to  change  that.  All  I  hoped  to 
do  was  to  save  one  or  two  fellows  from  being  cruelly  bul- 
lied and  spoiled.  We  can't  alter  the  wrong  tone  which 
nearly  all  the  fellows  have  on  some  matters." 

"  Yet,"  said  Power,  "  there  was  once  a  man,  a  single 
man,  in  a  great  corrupted  host,  who  stood  between  the  liv- 
ing and  the  dead,  and  the  plague  was  stayed." 

"  Then  rose  up  Phinees  and  prayed,  and  so  the  plague 
ceased,"  whispered  Walter  to  himself. 

All  farther  conversation  was  broken  by  Kenrick,  who  at 
this  moment  awoke  with  a  great  yawn,   and  looking  at 


TO    BED.  159 

his  watch,  declared  that  they  ouglt  to  have  been  iu  bed 
long  ago. 

"  Good-night,  Ken  ;  I  hope  we  shall  sleep  as  sound  as 
you,"  said  Power. 

"  Walter  here  will  dream  of  skeletons  and  moonlit  pre- 
cipices, I  bet,"  said  Kenrick. 

"  Not  I,  Ken  ;  Fra  far  too  tired.     Good-mght,  both." 

Sleepy  as  they  were,  two  of  those  boys  did  not  fall  asleep 
that  night  till  they  had  poured  out  with  all  the  passion  of 
full  hearts,  words  of  earnest  supplication  for  the  future,  of 
trembling  gratitude  for  the  past.  Two  of  them — for  Ken- 
rick, with  all  the  fine  points  of  his  character,  was  entirely 
destitute  of  any  sense  of  religion. 

When  Walter  reached  his  room,  the  rest  were  asleep, 
but  not  Eden.  He  sate  up  in  his  bed  directly  Walter 
entered,  and  his  eyes  were  sparkling  with  animation  and 
pleasure. 

"  0  Walter,"  he  said,  "  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep,  for  joy 
Every  one's  praising  you  to  the  skies.  I  am  so  proud  of 
you,  and  it  is  so  very  good  of  you  to  be  friends  with  me." 

"  Tush,  Arty,"  said  Walter,  smiling,  "  one  would  think 
I'd  done  something  great  to  hear  you  talk,  whereas  really 
it  was  nothing  out  of  the  way.  I  meant  to  have  taken  you 
with  us,  but  I  thought  it  would  be  too  far  for  you." 

"  Taking  me  with  you,  and  Kenrick,  and  Power  !"  said 
Eden,  opening  his  large  eyes  ;  "  how  kind  of  you,  Walter  1 
but  only  fancy  Power  or  Kenrick  walking  with  me  1" 

"  Why  not,  Arty  ?  Power's  going  to  ask  you  to-rnor 
row  to  sit  in  his  study,  and  learn  your  lessons  there  when 
jver  you  like." 

"  Power  ask  me .'" 

«'  You  1     Why  not  ?" 

"  Why,  he's  such  a  swell." 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  try  and  be  a  swell  too." 


1 60  EDEN. 

"  No,  no,  Walter ;  I  am  doing  ten  times  as  well  as  1 
did,  but  I  shall  never  be  a  swell  like  Power,  said  the  child 
simply.  "  And  I  know  it's  all  your  doing,  not  his.  Oh, 
how  shall  I  ever  learn  to  thank  and  pay  you  for  all  you  do 
for  me  ?" 

"  By  being  a  good  and  brave  little  boy,  Arty.  Good 
tught,  and  God  bless  you." 

"  Good-night.  Walter  " 


CHAPTER  THE  EIGHTEENTH. 

THE    MARTYR-STUDENT. 

JTI^HE  days  that  followed,  as  the  boys  resumed  the  regulai 
routine  of  school  work,  passed  by  very  rapidly  and 
J-  pleasantly — rapidly,  because  the  long-expected  Christ- 
inas holidays  were  approaching  ;  pleasantly,  because  the 
boys  were  thoroughly  occupied  in  working  up  the  subjects 
for  the  final  examination.  For  Walter  especially,  those 
days  were  lighted  up  with  the  warm  glow  of  popularity 
and  success.  He  was  aiming,  with  boyish  eagerness,  to  win 
one  more  laurel  by  gaining  the  first  place  in  his  form  ;  and 
whenever  he  was  not  taking  exercise,  either  in  some  school 
game  or  by  a  ramble  along  his  favorite  cliffs  and  sands,  he 
was  generally  to  be  found  hard  at  work  in  Mr.  Percival's 
rooms,  learning  the  voluntary  repetitions,  or  going  over  the 
trial  subjects  with  Henderson,  who  had  now  quite  passed 
the  boundary  line  which  separated  the  idle  from  the  indus- 
trious boys. 

One  morniDg  Henderson  came  in  chuckling  and  laughing 
to  himself.  "  So  Power's  taking  a  leaf  out  of  your  book, 
Walter.  I  declare  he's  becoming  a  regular  sociable  gros- 
beak." 

"  Sociable  grosbeak  ?  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Oh,  don't  you  know  that  I  am  writing  a  drama  called 
the  '  Sociable  Grosbeaks,'  in  which  you,  and  Ken,  and  I 
are  introduced.  I  didn't  mean  to  introduce  Power — he 
wasn't  gregarious  enough  ;  but  I  shall  now,  and  he  shall 
prologise." 

"  But  why  is  he  more  sociable  now  ?" 


102  CONFIRMATION. 

"Why,  he's  actually  let  one  of  the — oh,  I  forgot,  1 
mustn't  call  names — well,  he's  given  Eden  the  run  of  his 
study." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  knew  that,"  said  Walter,  smiling.  "  At 
first  it  was  the  funniest  thing  to  see  them  together,  they 
were  both  so  shy  ;  but  after  a  day  or  two  they  were  quite 
friends  ;  and  now  you  may  find  Eden  perched  any  day  in 
Power's  window-seat,  grinding  away  at  his  Greek  verbs, 
and  as  happy  as  a  king.  Power  helps  him  in  his  work,  too. 
It'll  be  the  making  of  the  little  fellow.  Already  he's  com- 
ing out  strong  in  form." 

"  Hurrah  for  the  grosbeaks  1"  said  Henderson.  "  I  did 
mean  to  chaff  Power  about  it,  but  I  won't,  for  it  really  is 
very  kind  of  him." 

"  Yes  ;  and  so  it  is  of  Percival  to  let  us  sit  here  ;  but  I 
wish  that  dear  old  Dubbs  could  be  doiug  trial-work  here 
with  us." 

"  He's  very  ill,"  said  Henderson,  looking  serious — u  very 
ill,  I'm  afraid.  I  saw  him  to-day  for  a  minute,  but  he  seemed 
too  weak  to  talk." 

"  Is  he  ?  poor  fellow  !  I  knew  that  he  was  staying  out, 
but  I'd  no  notion  that  it  was  anything  dangerous." 

"  I  don't  know  about  dangerous,  but  he's  quite  ill.  Poor 
Daubeny  !  you  know  how  very  patient  and  good  he  is,  yet 
even  he  can't  help  being  sad  at  falling  ill  just  now.  You 
know  he  was  to  have  been  confirmed  to-morrow  week,  and 
he's  afraid  that  now  he  won't  be  well  enough,  and  will  have 
to  put  it  off." 

"  Yes  ;  he's  mentioned  his  confirmation  to  me  several 
times.  Lots  of  fellows  are  going  to  be  confirmed  this  time 
—about  a  hundred,  I  believe — but  I  don't  suppose  one  of 
them  thinks  of  it  so  solemnly  as  dear  old  Dubbs — unless, 
Indeed,  it's  Power,  who  also  is  to  be  confirmed." 

The  confirmation  was  to  take  place  on  a  Sunday,  and  the 


DAUBENY.  163 

candidates  had  long  been  engaged  in  a  course  of  piepara* 
tiou.  Tlie  intellectual  preparation  was  carefully  undertaken 
by  Dr.  Lane  and  the  tutors  of  the  boys. 

To  this  confirmation  some  of  the  best  boys,  like  Power 
and  Daubeny,  were  looking  forward,  not  with  any  exagge- 
rated or  romantic  sentimentality,  but  with  a  deep  humility, 
a  manly  exultation,  an  earnest  hope. 

"  Do  you  think  it  would  be  possible  to  see  Dubbs  ?  1 
should  so  like  to  see  him,"  said  Walter. 

"  Let's  ask  Percival,  he's  in  the  next  room  ;  and  if 
Dubbs  is  well  enough,  I  know  he'd  give  anything  to  see 
you." 

"  Please,  sir,"  said  Walter,  after  knocking  for  admission 
at  the  door  of  the  inner  room,  "  do  you  think  that  Hender- 
son and  I  m.ght  go  to  the  cottage  and  see  Daubeny  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Walter  ;  but  I  want  very  much  to  see 
him  myself,  if  Dr.  Keith  will  let  me,  so  I'll  come  with  you 
and  inquire." 

Mr.  Percival  walked  with  the  two  boys  to  the  cottage, 
and,  after  an  injunction  not  to  stay  too  long,  they  were  ad- 
mitted to  the  sick  boy's  bedside.  At  first,  in  the  darkened 
room,  they  saw  nothing  ;  but  Daubeny's  voice,  weak  and 
low,  but  very  cheerful,  at  once  greeted  them. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  sir,  for  coming  to  see  me  !  Hallo  ! 
Walter,  and  Flip  too  ;  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you — you  in  a 
sick  room  again,  Flip  I" 

11  We  would  have  come  before  if  we  had  kuown  that  we 
might  see  you,"  said  the  master.  "  How  are  you  feeling,, 
my  dear  boy  ?" 

"  Not  very  well,  sir  ;  my  head  aches  sadly  sometimes, 
and  I  get  so  confused." 

"  A.h,  Daubeny,  it's  the  over-work.  "  Didn't  I  entreat 
you,  my  child,  to  slacken  the  bent  bow  a  little  ?  You'll  be 
wiser  in  future  ;  will  you  uot  ?" 


164  HENDERSON. 

"  Iu  future  ! — oh,  yes,  sir.  If  ever  I  get  well,  I'm  afraid,' 
he  said,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  that  you'll  find  me  stupider 
thau  ever." 

"  Stupid,  my  boy  !  noue  of  us  ever  thought  you  that.  It 
is  not  the  stupid  boys  that  get  head  removes  as  you  have 
done  the  last  term  or  two.  I  should  very  much  enjoy  a 
talk  with  you,  Daubeuy,  but  I  mustn't  stay  uow,  the  doctor 
says,  so  I'll  leave  these  two  fellows  with  you,  and  give  them 
fcen  minutes — no  longer — to  tell  you  all  the  school  news." 

"  Iu  future  wiser — in  future  !"  repeated  Daubeny,  iu  a 
low  voice  to  himself  once  or  twice.  "  Ah,  yes,  too  late 
now  1  I  don't  think  he  knows  lrow  ill  I  am,  Walter.  My 
mother's  been  sent  for  ;  I  expect  her  this  evening.  I  shall 
at  least  live  to  see  her  again." 

"  Oh,  don't,"  said  Henderson,  whose  quick  and  sensitive 
nature  was  easily  excited — don't  talk  like  that,  Daubeny  ; 
we  can't  spare  you  ;  you  must  stay  for  our  sake." 

"  Dear  old  fellow  1"  said  Daubeny,  "  you'll  have  nobody 
left  to  chaff ;  but  you  can  spare  me  easily  enougli  ;"  and 
he  laid  his  fevered  hand  kindly  on  Henderson's,  who  imme- 
diately turned  his  head  and  brushed  away  a  tear.  "  Oh, 
don't  cry,"  he  added,  in  a  pained  tone  of  voice  ;  "  I  never 
meant  to  make  you  cry.     I'm  quite  happy,  Flip." 

"  Oh,  Daubeny,  we  can't  get  on  without  you  !"  said  Hen- 
derson. 

"  Daubeny  I  I  hardly  know  the  name,"  said  the  sick 
boy.  smiling.  "  No,  Flip,  let  it  be  Dubbs,  as  of  old — a  nice 
heavy  name  to  suit  its  owner  ;  and  you  gave  it  me,  you 
know,  so  it's  your  property,  Flip,  and  I  hardly  know  myself 
by  any  other  now." 

"  Oh,  Dubbs,  I  have  plagued  you  so  !"  said  Henderson, 
sobbing  as  if  his  heart  would  break  ;  "  I've  never  done  any- 
thing  but  teaze  you,  and  laugh  al  you,  and  you've  always 
been  so  good  and  so  patient  to  me.     Do  forgive  me." 


A    GREAT    DREAD.  10 


K 


"  Pooh  !"  said  Daubeny,  trying  to  rally  him.  "  Listen 
to  him,  Walter  ;  who'd  think  that  Flip  was  talking  ? 
Teazed  me,  Flip  ?"  he  continued,  as  Henderson  Etill  tobbed 
at  intervals  ;  "  not  you  !  I  always  enjoyed  your  chaff,  and 
I  knew  you  liked  me  at  heart.  You  have  all  been  very  kind 
to  me,     Walter,  I'm  so  glad  I  got  to  know  you  before 

I ,     It's  so  pleasant  to  see  you  here.     Give  me  your 

hand  ;  no,  Flip,  let  me  keep  yours  too  ;  it's  getting  dark. 
I  like  to  have  you  here.  I  feel  so  happy.  I  wish  Power 
and  Ken  would  come  too,  that  I  might  see  all  my  friends." 

"  Good-night,  Daubeny  ;  I  can't  stay — I  mustn't  stay," 
said  Henderson  ;  and,  pressing  his  friend's  hand,  he  hurried 
out  of  the  room  to  indulge  in  a  burst  of  grief  which  he 
could  not  contain  ;  for,  under  his  trifling  and  nonsensical 
manner,  Henderson  had  a  very  warm,  and  susceptible,  and 
feeling  heart  ;  and  though  he  had  always  made  Daubeny  a 
subject  of  ridicule,  he  never  did  it  with  a  particle  of  ill-na- 
ture, and  felt  for  him — dissimilar  as  their  characters  were 
— a  most  fervent  and  deep  regard. 

"  Look  after  him  when  I'm  gone,  Walter,"  said  Dau- 
beny, sadly,  when  he  had  left  the  room.  "  Ho  is  a  dear 
good  fellow,  but  so  easily  led.  Poor  Flip  !  he's  immensely 
changed  for  the  better  since  you  came,  Walter." 

"  I  have  been  very  fond  of  him  all  along,"  said  Walter  : 
"  he  is  so  full  of  laughter  and  fun,  and  he's  very  good  with 
it  all.  But,  Dubbs,  you  are  too  desponding.  We  shall 
have  you  here  yet  for  many  pleasant  days." 

"  I  don't  know  ;  perhaps  so,  if  God  wills.  I  am  very 
young.  I  should  like  to  stay  a  little  longer  in  the  sunshine. 
Walter,  I  should  like  to  stay  with  you.  I  love  you  more, 
I  think,  than  any  one,  except  Power  ;"  and  as  he  spoke, 
i  quiet  tear  rolled  slowly  down  Daubeny's  face 

Walter  only  pressed  his  hand.  "  You  can't  think  how 
I  pitied  you,  Walter,  in  that  accident  about  Patou's  manu 


166  ASLEEP. 

script.  When  all  the  fellows  were  cutting  you,  and  abusing 
you,  my  heart  used  to  bleed  for  you;  you  used  to  go  about 
looking  so  miserable,  so  much  as  if  all  your  chances  of  life 
were  over.  I'm  afraid  I  did  very  little  for  you  then,  but  I 
would  have  done  anything  I  felt  as  if  I  could  have  given 
you  my  right  hand  " 

"  But,  Dubbs,  you  were  the  first  who  spoke  to  me  after 
that  happened;  the  first  who  wasn't  ashamed  to  walk  with 
me.  You  can't  think  how  grateful  I  felt  to  you  for  it.  It 
rolled  a  cold  weight  from  me.  It  was  like  stretching  a  Hav- 
ing hand  to  one  who  was  drowning  ;  for  every  one  knew 
how  good  a  fellow  you  were,  and  your  countenance  was 
worth  everything  to  me  just  then." 

"You  really  felt  so?"  said  Daubeny,  brightening  up, 
while  a  faint  flush  rested  for  a  moment  on  his  pale  face. 
"  Oli,  Walter,  it  makes  me  happy  to  hear  you  say  so  !" 

There  was  a  silence,  and,  with  Walter's  hand  still  in  his, 
he  fell  into  a  sweet  sleep,  with  a  smile  upon  his  face.  When 
he  was  quite  asleep,  Walter  gently  removed  his  hand, 
smoothed  his  pillow,  looked  affectionately  at  him  for  a  mo- 
ment and  stole  silently  from  the  room. 

"How  did  you  leave  him?"  asked  Henderson,  eagerly, 
when  Walter  joined  him  in  Mr.  Percival's  room. 

"  Sleeping  soundly.  I  hope  it  will  do  him  good.  I  did 
not  know  how  much  you  cared  for  him,  Flip." 

"  That's  because  I  always  made  him  a  butt,"  said  Hen- 
derson, remorsefully  ;  "  but  I  didn't  really  think  he  minded 
it,  or  I  wouldn't  have  done  so.  I  hardly  knew  myself  that 
1  liked  him  so.  It  was  a  confounded  shame  of  me  to  worry 
him  as  I  was  always  doing.  Conceited  donkey  that  I  was, 
I  was  always  trying  to  make  him  seem  stupid  ;  yet  all  the 
while  1  could  have  stood  by  him  cap  in  hand.  O  Walter, 
[  hope  ho  is  not  going  to  die  1" 

"  (),    no   I  hope   not  ;  and  don't  be  miserable  at  the 


OVERWORK.  167 

thought  of  teazing  him,  Flip  ;  it  was  all  in  fun,  and  he  was 
never  wounded  by  any  word  of  yours.  Remember  how  he 
used  to  tell  you  that  he  was  all  the  time  laughing  at  you, 
not  you  at  him."  Come  a  turn  on  the  shore,  and  let's  take 
Power  or  Ken  with  us." 

"  Sociable  grosbeaks,  again,"  said  Henderson,  laughing 
in  the  midst  of  his  sorrow. 

"  Yes,"  said  Walter  ;  "  never  mind.  There  are  but  few 
birds  of  the  sort  after  all." 

They  found  Eden  with  his  feet  up,  and  his  hands  round 
his  knees,  on  the  window-seat,  perfectly  at  his  ease,  and 
chattering  to  Power  like  a  young  jackdaw.  A  thrill  of 
pleasure  passed  throughWalter's  heart,  as  a  glance  showed 
him  how  well  his  proposal  had  succeeded.  Power  evidently 
had  had  no  reason  to  repent  of  his  kindness,  and  Eden 
looked  more  like  the  bright  and  happy  child  which  he  had 
once  been,  than  ever  was  the  case  since  he  had  come  to  St. 
Winifred's.  He  was  now  clean  and  neat  in  dress,  and  the 
shadows  of  fear  and  guilt  which  had  begun  to  darken  his 
young  face  were  chased  away. 

Power  readily  joined  them  in  their  stroll  along  the  shore, 
and  listened  with  affect!ouate  sympathy  to  their  account  oi 
Daubcnv. 

"  What  is  it  that  has  made  him  ill  ?"  he  asked. 

"  There's  no  doubt  about  that,"  answered  Walter  ;  "  it's 
overwork  which  has  brought  on  a  tendency  to  brain 
fever." 

"  I  was  afraid  so,  Walter.  I've  never  had  but  one  feel- 
ing about  him  myself ;  and  that  was  a  feeling  almost  like 
reverence.  I  hope  and  trust  that  he'll  be  well  enough  for 
to-morrow  week.  I  always  looked  forward  to  kneeling 
next  to  him  when  we  were  confirmed." 

"  Ah,  you  loved  him,  Power,"  said  Henderson,  "  be- 
cause your  tastes  were  like  his.     But  I  owe  a  great  deal  tc 


168  NOT   IN    VAIN. 

him  ; — more  than  I  can  ever  tell  you.  I  don't  feel  as  if  J 
could  tell  you  now,  while  he  lies  there  so  ill,  poor  fellow. 
He  has  saved  me  more  than  once  from  vigorous  efforts  to 
throw  myself  away.  But  for  him  I  should  have  gone  to 
the  devil  long,  long  ago.  I  was  very  near  it  once."  He 
sighed,  and  as  they  walked  by  the  violet  margent  of  the 
evening  waves,  he  offered  up  in  silence  an  earnest  prayei 
that  Daubeny  might  live. 

The  blind  old  poet  would  have  said,  that  the  winds  car- 
ried the  prayer  away  and  scattered  it.  But  no  winds  can 
scatter,  no  waves  can  drown,  the  immortal  spirit  of  one 
true  prayer.  Unanswered  it  may  be — but  scattered  ani 
fruitless,  not  I 


I 


CHAPTER   THE    NINETEENTH. 

THE    SCHOOL    BELL. 

'VE  got  a  good  piece  of  news  for  you,  Master  Dan- 
beny,"  said  the  kind  old  school-nurse. 

"  What  is  it  ?  is  my  mother  here  ?"  he  said  eagerly, 
"  Oh  1  let  her  come  and  see  me." 

She  was  at  the  door,  and  the  next  moment  his  arms 
were  round  her  neck  in  a  long  embrace.  "  Darling,  darling 
mother,"  he  exclaimed,  "  now  I  shall  be  happy,  now  that 
you  have  come.  Nay,  you  mustn't  cry,  mother,"  he  said, 
as  he  felt  one  of  her  fast-flowing  tears  upon  his  forehead  ; 
"  you've  come  to  help  me  in  bearing  up." 

"  Dearest  Johnny,"  she  said,  "  I  trust  yet  that  God  will 
spare  the  widow's  only  son  ;  He  who  raised  the  son  of  the 
widow  of  Nain  wijl  pity  us." 

"  His  ways  are  not  ours,  mother  dear  ;  I  do  not  think 
that  I  shall  recover.  My  past  life  hangs  before  me  like  a 
far  off  picture  already  ;  I  lie  and  look  at  it  almost  as  if  it 
were  not  mine,  and  my  mind  is  quite  at  peace  ;  only  some- 
times my  head  is  all  confused." 

"  God's  will  be  done,  Johnny,"  sobbed  the  poor  lady 
"  But  I  do  not  think  I  can  live,  if  vou  be  taken  from  me." 

"  Taken — but  not  forever,  mother,"  he  said,  looking  up 
into  her  face. 

"  0  Johnny,  why,  why  did  you  not  spare  yourself,  and 
work  less  ?     It  is  the  work  which  has  killed  you." 

"  Only  because  it  fell  heavier  on  me  than  on  other  boys 
They  got  through  it  quickly,  but  I  was  not  so  clever,  and 
it  cost  me  more  to  do  my  duty.     I  tried  to  do  it,  mothel 

8  169 


170  THE   MOTHER. 

dear,  and  God  helped  rue.  All  is  well  as  it  is.  Oh,  qij- 
head,  my  head  !" 

"  You  must  rest,  darling.  My  visit  and  talk  has  excited 
you.     Try  to  go  to  sleep." 

"  Then  sit  there,  mother,  opposite  me,  so  that  I  may  see 
you  when  I  wake  " 

She  kissed  his  aching  brow,  aud  sat  down,  while  he  com- 
posed himself  to  rest.  She  was  a  lady  of  about  fifty,  with 
bands  of  silver  hair  smoothed  over  her  calm  forehead,  and 
in  appearance  not  unlike  her  son.  But  there  was  some- 
thin""  very  sweet  and  matronly  about  her  look,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  see  her  without  feeling  the  respect  and  honor 
which  were  her  due. 

And  she  sate  there,  by  the  bedside,  looking  upon  her 
only  son,  the  boy  who  had  been  the  light  of  her  life  ;  and 
she  knew  that  he  was  dying — she  knew  that  he  was  fading 
away  before  her  ey^s.  Yet  there  was  a  sweet  and  noble 
resignation  in  her  anguish  ;  there  was  a  deep  and  genuine 
spirit  of  submission  to  the  will  of  heaven,  and  a  perfect 
faith  in  God's  love,  whatever  might  be  the  issue,  in  every 
prayer  she  breathed,  as  with  clasped  hands,  and  streaming 
eyes,  and  moving  lips,  she  gazed  upon  his  face.  He  might 
appear  dull  and  heavy  to  others,  but  to  her  he  was  dear 
beyond  all  thought  ;  and  now  she  was  to  lose  him.  In 
her  inmost  heart  she  knew  that  she  must  suffer  that  great 
pang  ;  that  God  was  taking  to  himself  the  son  who  had 
been  so  good  and  true  to  her,  so  affectionate,  so  sweet- 
tempered,  so  unselfish,  that  even  from  his  gentle  and  quiet 
infancy,  he  had  never  by  Ills  conduct  caused  her  a  mo- 
ment's pain.  She  had  long  been  looking  forward  to  the 
btrong  and  upright  manhood  which  should  follow  this  pure 
boyhood  ;  but  thai  dear  boy  was  not  destined  to  be  the 
staff  of  her  declining  years  ;  her  hands  were  to  close  his 
eyes  in  the  last  long  sleep,  aad  she  was  to  pass  alone  under 


WANDEKING.  I  71 

the  overshadowing  rocks  that  close  around  the  valley  of 
human  life.  God  help  the  mother's  heart  who  must  pass 
through  scenes  like  this  ! 

Poor  Daubeny  could  not  sleep.  Brain-fever  is  usually 
accompanied  by  delirium,  and  as  he  turned  restlessly  upon 
his  pillow,  his  mind  began  to  wander  a,,ray  to  other  days 
and  scenes. 

"  Stupid,  sir  ?  yes,  I  know  I  am,  bat  I  can't  help  it  ; 
I've  really  done  my  best.  I  was  up  at  five  o'clock  this 
morning,  trying,  trying  so  hard  to  learn  this  repetition. 
Indeed,  indeed,  I'm  not  idle,  sir.  I'll  try  to  do  my  duty 
if  I  can.  Oh,  Power,  I  wish  I  were  like  you  ;  you  learn 
so  quickly,  and  you  never  get  abused  as  I  do  after  it  all." 

And  then  the  poor  boy  fancied  himself  sitting  under  the 
gas-lamp  in  the  passage  as  he  had  so  often  done,  and  try- 
ing to  master  one  of  his  repetition  lessons,  repeating  the 
lines  fast  to  himself  as  he  used  to  do  : 

11  How  does  it  go  ?  Oh,  what  does  come  next  ?"  and  he 
stopped  with  an  expression  of  pain  on  his  face,  pressing  his 
hands  tight  over  his  brow. 

"  Don't  go  on  with  the  repetition,  Johnny,  dear,"  said 
the  poor  mother.     "  I'm  sure  you  know  it  enough  now." 

"  Oh,  no  !  not  yet,  mother  ;  I  shall  be  turned,  I  know 
I  shall  to-morrow,  and  it  makes  him  so  angry  ;  he'll  call 
me  idle  and  incorrigible,  and  all  kinds  of  things."  And 
then  he  began  again  : 

"  Oh,  I  shall  break  down,  I  know  I  shall  ;"  and  he 
burst  into  tears.  "  It's  no  good  trying  to  help  me,  Power, 
I  can't  learn  it." 

"  Leave  off  for  to-night  at  least,  Johnny,"  said  his  mo 
'.her,  in  a  tone  of  anguish;  "  you  can  learn  the  rest  to-mor- 
row. Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?"  she  asked,  turning  to  the 
Durse  ;  "  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  him  go  on  like  this." 

"  Be  comforted,  ma'am,"  said  the  nurse,  wiping  awaj 


172  MORE    CALM. 

her  own  tears.     "  He's  a  dear  good  lamb,  and  he'll  come 
to  hisself  soon  afore  lie  goes  off." 

"Musi  he  die,  then?"  she  asked,  trembling  in  every 
limb. 

"  Hush,  good  lady  ;  we  never  know  what  God  may 
please  to  do  in  His  mercy.  We  must  bow  to  His  gracioua 
will,  ma'am,  as  you  knows  well,  I  don't  doubt.  He's  fitter 
to  die  than  many  a  grown  man  is,  poor  child,  and  that's  a 
blessing.  I  wish  though  he  wasn't  a  repeating  of  that 
there  heathenish  Latin." 

But  Daubeny's  voice  was  still  huniming  fragments  of 
Horace  lines,  sometimes  with  eager  concentration,  and  then 
with  pauses  at  parts  where  his  memory  failed,  at  which  he 
would  grow  distressed  and  anxious  : 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  learn  this.  I  think  I  am  getting  more 
stupid  every  day." 

"  If  you  love  me,  Johnny,  give  it  up  for  to-night ;  that's 
a  darling  boy,"  said  his  mother. 

"  But,  mother,  it's  my  duty  to  know  it.  You  wouldn't 
have  me  fail  in  duty,  mother  dear,  would  you  ?  Why,  it 
was  you  who  told  me  to  persevere,  and  do  all  things  with 
my  might.  Well,  I  will  leave  it  for  to-night."  Then,  still 
unconscious  of  what  he  was  doing,  the  boy  got  up  and 
prayed,  as  it  was  evident  that  he  had  done  mauy  a  time, 
that  God  would  strengthen  his  memory  and  quicken  his 
powers,  and  enable  him  to  do  his  duty  like  a  man.  It  was 
inexpressibly  touching  to  see  him  as  he  knelt  there — thin, 
pale,  emaciated,  the  shadow  of  his  former  self,  kneeling  in 
his  delirium  to  oiler  up  his  old  accustomed  prayer. 

And  when  he  got  into  bed  again,  although  his  mind  still 
wandered,  he  was  much  calmer,  and  a  new  direction  seemed 
to  have  been  given  to  his  thoughts.  The  prayer  had  fallen 
\ke  dew  on  his  aching  soul.  He  fancied  himself  in  Power's 
study,  where  for  many  a  Sunday  the  two  boys  had  been 


ASLEEP.  173 

nsed  to  sit,  and  where  they  had  often  learnt  or  read  to 
each  other  their  favorite  hymns.  Fragments  of  these  hymns 
ne  was  now  repeating,  dwelling  on  the  words  with  an  evi- 
dent sense  of  pleasure  and  relief : 

"  '  A  noble  army — men  and  :oys, 

The  matron  and  the  maid, 
Around  the  Saviour's  throne  rejoice, 
In  robes  of  light  arrayed. 

"  '  They  climbed  the  steep  ascent  of  heaven, 
'Mid  peril,  toil,  and  pain  ; 
0  God,  to  us  may  strength  be  given, 
To  follow  in  their  train. 

Isn't  that  beautiful,  Power  ? 

'And  when  on  ioyful  wing, 
Cleaving  the  sky, 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars  forgot, 

Upward  I  fly ; 
Still  ail  my  song  shall  be 
Nearer,  my  God  to  thee, 
Nearer  to  thee.'  " 

And  as  he  murmured  to  himself,  in  a  soothed  tone  of 
voice,  these  verses,  and  lineh  of  "  Jerusalem  the  Golden," 
and  "O  for  a  closer  walk  with  Godl"  and  "  Rock  of  Ages," 
the  wearied  brain  at  last  found  repose,  and  Daubeuy  fell 
asleep. 

He  lingered  on  till  the  end  of  the  week.  On  the  Satur- 
day he  ceased  to  be  delirious,  and  the  lucid  interval  began 
which  precedes  death.  It  was  then  that  he  earnestly  en- 
created  to  be  allowed  to  see  those  school-friends  whose 
names  had  been  so  often  on  his  lips — Power,  Walter,  and 
Henderson.  The  boys,  who  had  daily  and  eagerly  inquired 
for  him,  entered  with  a  feeling  of  trembling  solemnity  the 
room  of  sickness      The  near  presence  of  death  tilled  then; 


174  FAREWELL    FOE    EVKR. 

with  an  indescribable  awe,  and  they  felt  desolate  at  the  s.p 
proaching  loss  of  a  friend  whom  they  loved  so  well. 

"  I  sent  to  say  good-bye,"  he  said,  smiling  sweetly 
"  You  must  not  cry  and  grieve  for  me.  I  am  happier  thau 
I  ever  felt  before.  Good-bye,  Walter.  It's  for  a  long, 
long,  long  time  ;  but  not  for  ever  Good-bye,  my  dear  old 
Flip — naughty  fellow  to  cry  so,  when  I  am  happy  ;  and 
when  I  am  gone,  Flip,  think  of  me  sometimes,  and  of  talks 
«e've  had  together,  and  take  your  side  manfully  for  God 
and  Christ.  Good-bye,  Power,  my  best  friend  ;  we  meant 
to  be  confirmed  together,  you  know,  but  God  has  ordered 
it  otherwise.     And  then  he  whispered  low  : 

" '  Lord,  shall  we  come — come  yet  again  ? 
Thy  children  ask  one  blessing  more? 
To  come  not  now  alone,  but  then 
When  life,  and  death,  and  time  are  o'er; 
Then,  then,  to  come,  0  Lord,  and  be 
Confirmed  in  heaven — confirmed  by  Thee? 

Oh,  Power,  that  line  fills  me  with  hope  and  joy  ;  think  of 
it  for  me  when  I  am  dead  ;"  and  his  voice  trembled  with 
emotion  as  he  again  murmured,  "  Confirmed  in  heaven — 
confirmed  by  Thee.  I'm  afraid  I'm  too  weak  to  talk  any 
more.  Oh,  what  a  long,  long  good-bye  it  will  be,  for  years, 
and  years,  and  years  ;  to  think  that  when  you  have  gone 
out  of  the  room  we  shall  never  meet  in  life  again,  and  I 
shall  never  hear  your  pleasant  voices.  Oh,  Flip,  you  make 
me  cry  against  my  will  by  crying  so  !  It's  hard  to  say,  but 
it  must  be  said  at  last  ; — Good-bye,  God  bless  you,  with  all 
my  heart  !"  He  laid  his  hand  on  their  heads  as  they  bent 
3ver  him,  and  once  more  whispering  the  last  "  Good-bye," 
turned  away  his  face  and  made  the  pillow  wet  with  his 
warm  tears. 
The  sound  of  his  jiother's  sobs  attracted  him.     "  Ah 


FAREWELL    FOlt    EVEK.  175 

mother,  darling-,  we  are  alone  now  ;  you  will  stay  with  mo 
till  I  die  !     I  am  tired." 

"  I  feared  that  their  visit  would  excite  you  too  much,  my 
child." 

"  0  no,  mother  ;  I  couldn't  bear  to  die  without  seeing 
them,  I  loved  them  so  much.  Mother,  will  you  sing  to  mf 
a  little  ?     Sing  me  my  favorite  hymn." 

She  began,  in  a  low,  sweet  voice, 

"  My  God,  my  Father,  while  I  stray, 
Far  from  my  home  in  life's  rough  way, 
0  teach  me  from  my  heart  to  say, 

Thy  will  be  done, 

Thy  will  he ;' 

She  stopped,  for  sobs  choked  her  voice.  "I  am  sorry  1 
cannot,  Johnny.  But  I  cannot  bear  to  think  how  soon  we 
must  part." 

"  Only  for  a  short  time,  mother — a  short  time.  I  said  a 
long  time  just  now,  but  now  it  looks  to  me  quite  short,  and 
I  shall  be  with  God.  I  see  it  all  now  so  clearly.  Do  you 
remember  those  lines — 

'  The  soul's  dark  cottage,  battered  and  decayed, 
Lets  in  new  light  through  chinks  that  time  has  made.' 


'£>' 


How  true  they  are  !  Oh,  darling  mother,  how  very,  very 
good  you  have  always  been  to  me,  and  I  pay  you  with  all 
rny  heart's  whole  love  !"  He  pressed  upon  her  lips  a  long, 
long  kiss,  and  said,  "  Good-night,  darling  mother.  I  am 
falling  asleep  I  think." 

His  arms  relaxed  their  loving  embrace,  and  glided  dowu 
from  her  shoulder  ;  his  head  fell  back  ;  the  light  faded 
from  his  soft  and  gentle  eyes,  and  he  was  asleep. 

Rightly  he  said  "asleep" — the  long  sleep  that  is  the 
sweetest  and  happiest,  after  which  the  eves  open  upon  the 


176  THE    SCHOOL   BELL 

light  of  immortality,  and  the  weary  heart  rests  upon  the 
bosom  of  its  God.     Yes,  Daubeny  had  fallen  asleep. 

God  help  thee,  widowed  mothei  !  The  daily  endear 
ments,  the  looks  of  living  affection,  the  light  of  the  boy's 
presence ,  are  for  thee  and  for  thy  home  no  more.  There 
lies  the  human  body  of  thy  sou  ;  his  soul  is  with  the  white- 
robed,  redeemed,  innumerable  multitude,  iu  the  Paradise  of 
God. 

For  hours,  till  the  light  faded  into  darkness,  as  this 
young  life  had  faded  into  death,  she  sate  fixed  in  that  deep 
grief  which  finds  no  utterance,  and  knows  of  no  allevia- 
tion, with  little  consciousness  save  of  the  dead  presence, 
and  of  the  pang  that  benumbed  her  aching  heart.  And 
outside  rang  the  sound  of  games  and  health,  and  the  mur- 
mur of  boy-voices  came  to  her  forlorn  ear.  There  the 
stream  of  life  was  flashing  joyously  and  gloriously  iu  the 
sunshine,  while  here,  in  this  darkened  room,  it  had  sunk 
and  lost  itself  under  the  shadow.  But  she  was  a  Christian ; 
and  as  the  sweet  voices  of  memory,  and  conscience,  and 
hope,  and  promise  whispered  to  her,  in  her  loneliness,  their 
angel  messages,  her  heart  melted  and  the  tears  came,  and 
she  knelt  down  and  took  the  dead  hand  of  her  son  in  hers, 
and  said,  between  her  sobs,  while  her  tear-stained  eyes 
were  turned  to  heaven,  "  O  God,  teach  me  to  understand 
thy  will !» 

And  through  the  night  the  great  bell  of  the  church  of 
St.  Winifred's  tolled  the  sound  of  death  ;  and,  mingled 
with  it,  stroke  for  stroke,  iu  long,  tremulous,  trilling  notes 
that  echoed  through  the  silent  buildings,  rang  out  the  thin 
clear  bell  of  St.  Winifred's  school.  The  tones  of  that  school 
bell  were  usually  only  heard  as  they  summoned  the  boys  to 
lessons,  with  quick  and  hurried  beatings.  How  different 
now  were  the  slow,  occasional  notes — each  note  trembling 
itself  out  witli  undisturbed  vibrations,  which  quivered  long 


TOLLS.  177 

upon  the  air — with  which  it  told  that  foi  one  at  least 
whom  it  had  been  wont  to  warn,  hurry  was  possible  no 
longer,  and  there  was  boundless  leisure  nowl  There  was  a 
strange  pulse  of  emotion  in  t'.ie  hearts  of  the  listening  boys, 
when  the  sound  of  those  two  passing  bells  struck  upon  their 
ears  as  they  sate  at  evening  work,  and  told  them  that  the 
soul  of  their  school-fellow  had  passed  away,  and  that  God's 
voice  had  summoned  his  young  servant  to  his  side. 

"  You  hear  it,  Henderson,''  said  Walter,  who  sate  next 
to  him. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Henderson,  in  an  awe-struck  voice, 
"  Daubeny  is  dead." 

"  The  rest  of  that  evening  the  boys  sat  silent  and  motion- 
less, full  of  the  solemn  thoughts  which  can  never  be  forgot- 
ten. And  for  the  rest  of  that  evening  the  deep  church-bell 
todfcd,  and  the  shrill  school-bell  tolling  after  it,  shivered  out 
into  the  wintery  night  air  its  tremulous  message,  that  the 
w»'  cf  Daubeuv  had  passed  away. 


CHAPTER    THE    TWENTIETH. 

FAREWELL. 

INHERE  was  a  very  serious  look  on  the  faces  of  all  the 
boys  as  tliey  thronged  into  chapel  the  next  morning 
-  for  the  confirmation  service.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight 
to  see  the  subdued  yet  noble  air,  full  at  once  of  humility 
and  hope,  wherewith  many  of  the  youthful  candidates 
passed  along  the  aisle,  and  knelt  before  the  altar,  and  with 
clasped  hands  and  bowed  heads  awaited  the  touch  of  the 
hands  that  blessed.  As  those  young  soldiers  of  Christ 
knelt  meekly  in  their  places,  resolving  with  pure  and  earn- 
est hearts  to  fight  manfully  in  His  service,  and  praying 
with  child-like  faith  for  the  aid  of  which  they  felt  their 
need,  it  was  indeed  a  spectacle  to  recall  the  ideal  of  virtu- 
ous and  Christian  boyhood,  aud  to  force  upon  the  minds  of 
many  the  contrast  it  presented  with  the  other  too  familiar 
spectacle  of  a  boyhood  coarse,  brutal,  ignorant,  yet  con- 
ceited. 

When  the  good  bishop,  in  the  course  of  his  address, 
alluded  to  Daubeny's  death,  there  waa  throughout  the  cha- 
pel instantly  that  silence  that  can  be  felt — that  deep  un- 
broken hush  of  expectation  and  emotion  which  always  pro- 
luces  so  indescribable  an  effect. 

"  There  was  one,"  he  said,  "  who  should  have  been  con- 
firmed to-day,  who  is  not  here.  He  has  passed  away  from 
us  ;  he  will  never  be  present  at  an  earthly  confirmation  ; 
he  is  '  confirmed  in  heaven — confirmed  by  God.'  I  hear, 
and  I  rejoice  to  hear,  that  for  that  confirmation  he  was  in- 

178 


the  bishop's  sermon.  179 

deed  prepared,  and  that  be  looked  forward  to  it  with  some 
of  liis  latest  thoughts.  I  hear  that  he  was  preeminent 
among  you  for  the  piety,  the  purity,  the  amiability  of  his 
life  and  eharaeter,  and  his  very  death  was  caused  by  the  in- 
tense earnestness  of  his  desire  to  use  aright  the  talents 
which  God  had  entrusted  to  him.  Oh  !  sucb  a  death  of 
one  so  young  yet  so  fit  to  die  is  far  happier  than  the  long- 
est and  most  prosperous  of  sinful  lives.  Be  sobered  but 
not  saddened  by  it.  It  is  a  proof  of  God's  merciful  and 
tender  love  that  this  one  of  your  school-fellows  was  taken  in 
the  clear  and  quiet  dawn  of  a  noble  and  holy  life.  Be  not 
saddened  therefore  at  the  loss,  but  sobered  by  the  warning. 
The  fair,  sweet,  purple  ilower  of  youth  falls  and  fades,  my 
young  brethren,  under  the  sweeping  scythe  of  death,  no 
less  surely  than  the  withered  grass  of  age.  Oh  I  be  ready 
— be  ready  with  the  girded  loins  and  lighted  lamp — to 
obey  the  summons  of  your  God.  Who  knows  for  which  of 
us  next,  or  how  soon,  the  bell  of  death  may  toll  ?  Be  ye 
therefore  ready,  for  ye  know  not  at  what  day  or  at  what 
hour  the  voice  may  call  to  you  1" 

Tho  loss  of  a  well-known  companion  whom  all  respected 
and  many  loved — the  crowding  memories  of  school  life — 
the  still  small  voice  of  every  conscience,  gave  strange  mean- 
ing and  force  to  the  bishop's  simple  words.  As  they  lis- 
tened, many  wept  in  silence,  while  down  the  cheeks  of  Wal- 
ter, of  Power,  and  of  Henderson,  the  tears  fell  like  sum- 
mer rain. 

On  the  following  Tuesday  our  boys  saw  the  dead  body 
of  their  friend.  The  face  of  poor  Daubcny  looked  singu- 
larly beautiful  with  the  placid  lines  of  death,  as  all  inno- 
cent faces  do.  It  was  the  first  time  they  had  seen  a  corpse; 
and  as  Walter  touched  the  cold  cheek,  and  placed  a  spray 
of  evergreen  in  the  rigid  hand,  he  was  almost  overpowered 
with  an  awful  sense  of  the  sad  sweet  mystery  of  death. 


180  AWED    INTO    SILENCE. 

"  It  is  God  who  has  taken  him  to  Himself,"  said  Mrs 
Daubeny,  as  she  watched  their  emotion.  "  I  shall  not  be 
parted  from  him  long.  He  has  left  you  each  a  remem- 
brance of  himself,  dear  boys,  and  you  will  value  them,  I 
know,  for  my  poor  child's  sake,  and  for  his  widowed  mo- 
ther's thanks  to  those  who  loved  him." 

For  each  of  them  he  had  chosen,  before  he  died,  one  of 
his  most  prized  possessions.  To  Power  he  left  his  desk  ; 
to  Henderson,  his  microscope  ;  to  Kenrick,  a  little  gold 
pencilcase  ;  and  to  Walter,  a  treasure  which  he  deeply 
valued,  a  richly-bound  Bible,  in  which  he  had  left  many 
memorials  of  the  manner  in  which  his  days  were  spent  ;  and 
iu  which  he  had  marked  many  of  the  rules  which  were  the 
standard  of  bis  life,  and  the  words  of  hope  which  sustained 
his  gentle  and  noble  mind. 

The  next  day  he  was  buried  ;  only  the  boys  in  his  own 
house,  and  those  who  had  known  him  best,  followed  him  to 
the  grave.  They  were  standing  in  two  lines  along  the 
court,  and  the  plumed  hearse  stood  at  the  cottage  door. 
Just  at  that  moment  the  rest  of  the  boys  began  to  flock 
out  of  the  school,  for  lessons  were  over.  Each  as  he  came 
out  caught  si<rht  of  the  hearse,  the  plumes  waving  and 
whispering  in  the  sea-wind,  and  the  double  line  of  mourners; 
and  each,  on  seeing  it,  stood  where  he  was,  in  perfect 
sileuce.  Their  numbers  increased  each  moment,  till  boys 
and  masters  alike  were  there  ;  and  all  by  the  same  sudden 
impulse  stopped  where  they  were  standing  when  first  they 
saw  the  hearse,  and  stood  still  without  a  word.  The  scene 
was  the  more  strangely  impressive  because  it  was  acciden- 
tal and  spontaneous.  Meanwhile,  the  coffin  was  carried 
down  stairs,  and  placed  in  the  hearse,  which  moved  off 
slowly  across  the  court  between  the  line  of  bareheaded  and 
motionless  mourners.  It  was  thus  that  Daubeny  left  St. 
Winifred's,  and  passed  under  the  Norman  arch  ;  and  til! 


A    BIED-OAGE.  1S\ 

he  had  passed  through,  the  boys  stood  fixed  to  their  places. 
like  a  group  of  statues  in  the  usually  noisy  court. 

He  was  buried  iu  the  churchyard  under  the  tower  of  the 
graud  old  church.  It  was  a  lovely  spot  ;  the  torrent  raur- 
mured  near  it  ;  the  shadows  of  the  great  mountains  fell 
upon  it  ;  and  as  you  stood  there  in  the  sacred  silence  of 
that  memory-haunted  field,  you  heard  far  off  the  solemn 
monotone  of  the  everlasting  sea.  There  they  laid  him,  and 
the  stream  of  life,  checked  for  a  moment,  flashed  on  again 
with  turbulent  and  sparkling  waves.  Ah,  me  1 — yet  why 
should  we  sigh  at  the  merciful  provision,  which  causes  that 
the  very  best  of  us,  when  we  die,  leaves  but  a  slight  and 
transient  ripple  on  the  waters,  which  a  moment  after  flow 
on  as  smoothly  as  before  ? 

Mrs.  Daubeny  left  St.  Winifred's  that  evening  ;  her  car- 
riage looked  strange  with  her  son's  boxes  and  other  pos- 
sessions piled  up  in  it.  Power  and  Walter  shook  bands 
with  her  at  the  door  as  she  was  about  to  start  ;  and  just 
at  the  last  moment,  Henderson  came  running  up  with 
something,  which  he  put  on  the  carriage  seat  without  a 
word.  It  was  a  bird-cage,  containing  a  little  favorite 
camvy,  which  he  and  Daubeny  had  often  fed. 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-FIRST. 

kenrick's  home. 

IT  was  the  last  evening.  The  boys  were  all  assembled  id 
the  great  school-room  to  hear  the  result  of  the  Exami- 
nation. The  masters  in  their  caps  and  gowns  were 
seated  round  Dr.  Lane  in  the  centre  of  the  room  ;  and 
every  one  was  eager  to  know  what  places  the  boys  had 
taken,  and  who  would  win  the  various  form  prizes.  Dr. 
Lane  began  from  the  bottom  of  the  school,  and  at  the  last 
boy  in  each  form,  so  that  the  interest  of  the  proceedings 
kept  on  culminating  to  the  grand  climax.  The  first  name 
that  will  interest  us  was  Eden's,  and  both  Walter  and 
Power  were  watching  anxiously  to  see  where  he  would 
come  out  in  his  form.  Power  had  been  so  kindly  coaching 
him  in  his  work  that  they  expected  him  to  be  high  ;  but  it 
was  as  much  to  his  surprise  as  to  their  gratification,  that 
his  name  was  read  out  third.  Jones  and  Harpour  were,  aa 
was  natural,  last  in  their  respective  forms. 

At  length  Dr.  Lane  got  to  Walter's  form.  Last  but 
one  came  Howard  Tracy,  who  was  listening  with  a  fine 
superiority  to  the  whole  announcement.  Anthony  and 
Franklin  were  not  far  from  him.  Henderson  expected  him- 
self to  be  about  tenth  ;  but  the  tenth  name,  the  ninth,  and 
the  eighth,  all  were  read,  and  he  had  not  been  mentioned  ; 
his  heart  was  beating  fast,  and  he  almost  fancied  that 
there  must  have  been  some  mistake  ;  but  no  ;  Dr.  Lane 
read  on  : 

"  Seventh,  Gray  ; 

"  Sixth,  Mackworth  ; 

1S2 


FIRST,  EVSON.  183 

"  Fifth,  Whalley  ; 

"  Fourth,  Henderson  ;'- 
and  Walter  had  hardly  done  patting  him  on  the  back,  and 
congratulating  him,  when  Dr.  Lane  had  read — 

"  Third,  Manners  ; 

"  Second,  Carlton  ; 

"  First" — the  Doctor  always  read  the  word  first  with 
peculiar  emphasis,  and  then  brought  out  the  name  of  the 
boy  who  had  attained  that  distinction  with  great  empresse- 
ment — "  First,  Fvson." 

Whereupon  it  was  Henderson's  turn  to  pat  him  on  the 
back,  which  he  did  very  vigorously  ;  and  not  only  so,  but 
in  his  enthusiasm  began  to  clap — a  demonstration  which 
ran  like  wildfire  through  all  the  ranks  of  the  boys,  and  be- 
fore Dr.  Lane  could  raise  his  voice  to  secure  silence — for 
approbation  on  those  occasions  in  the  great  school-room 
was  not  at  all  scion  regie — our  young  hero  had  received  a 
regular  ovation.  For  since  the  day  on  Appenfell,  Walter 
had  been  the  favorite  of  the  school,  and  they  were  only  too 
glad  to  follow  Henderson  in  his  irregular  applause.  There 
was  an  intoxicating  sweetness  in  this  popularity.  Could 
Walter  help  keenly  enjoying  the  general  regard  which  thus, 
defiant  of  rules,  broke  out  in  his  honor  into  spontaneous 
acclamations  ? 

Dr.  Lane's  stern  "  Silence  1"  heard  above  the  uproar, 
booh  reduced  the  boys  to  order,  and  he  proceeded  with  the 
list.  Kenrick  was  read  out  first  in  his  form,  and  Power, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  again  first  in  the  second  fifth,  although 
in  that  form  he  was  the  youngest  boy.  Soniers  came  out 
head  of  the  school,  by  examination  as  well  as  by  seniority 
of  standing  ;  and  in  his  case,  too,  the  impulse  to  cheer  was 
too  strong  to  be  resisted.  The  head  of  the  school  was, 
however,  tacitly  excepted  from  the  general  rule,  and  Dr 
Lane  only  smiled  while  he  listened  to  the  clapping,  which 


184  HOME. 

showed  that  Somers  was  regarded  with  esteem  and  honor 
by  the  boys,  in  spite  of  his  cold  manners  and  stern  regime. 

"  Hurrah  for  the  Sociable  Grosbeaks  1"  said  Henderson, 
as  the  boys  streamed  out  of  the  room.  "  Why,  we  carry 
all  before  us  !  And  only  fancy  me  fourth  1  Why,  I'm  a 
magnificent  swell,  without  ever  having  known  it.  You 
look  out,  Master  Walter,  or  I  shall  have  a  scrimmage  with 
you  for  laurels." 

"  Good,"  said  Walter.  "  Meanwhile,  come  and  help 
me  to  pack  up  my  laurels  in  my  box.  And  then  for  home  ! 
Hurrah  I" 

Next  day  the  boys  were  scattered  in  every  direction  to 
their  various  homes.  It  need  not  be  said  that  Walter 
passed  very  happy  holidays  that  Christmas  time.  Power 
came  and  spent  a  fortnight  with  him  ;  and  let  every  boy 
who  has  a  cheerful  and  affectionate  home  imagine  for  him- 
self how  blithely  their  days  passed  by.  Power  made  him- 
self a  universal  favorite,  always  unselfish,  always  merry,  and 
throwing  himself  heartily  into  every  amusement  which  the 
Evsons  proposed.  He  and  they  were  mutually  sorry  when 
the  time  came  for  them  to  part. 

From  Semlyn  Lake,  Walter's  home,  to  Fuzby,  Ken- 
rick's  home,  the  change  is  great  indeed  ;  yet  I  must  take 
the  reader  there  for  a  short  time,  before  we  return  to 
the  noisy  and  often  troubled  precincts  of  St.  Winifred's 
school. 

Before  Power  came  to  stay  with  the  Evsons,  Walter, 
with  his  father's  full  permission,  had  written  to  ask  Ken- 
rick  to  join  them  at  the  same  time,  and  this  is  the  answer 
he  got  in  reply. 

"  My  dear  Walter  :  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  your 
letter  tempted  me.  I  should  so  like  to  come  ;  I  would 
{jive  anything  to  come  aud  see  you.     To  be  with  you  and 


KENEICK.  S    LETTER.  185 

Power  at  such  a  place  as  Semlyii  must  be — 0  Walter,  it 
almost  makes  me  envious  to  think  of  you  there.  But  I 
can't  come,  and  I'll  tell  you  frankly  the  reason.  I  can't 
afford,  or  rather  I  mean  that  my  mother  cannot  afford,  the 
necessary  travelling  expenses,  I  look  on  you,  Walter,  as 
my  best  school  friend,  so  I  may  as  well  say  at  once  that 
we  are  very,  very  poor.  If  I  could  even  get  to  you  by 
walking  some  of  the  way,  and  going  third-class  the  rest.  I 
would  jump  at  the  chance. 

"  You  must  be  amused  at  the  name  of  this  place,  Fuzby- 
le-Mud.  What  charming  prospects  the  name  opens,  does 
it  not  ?  I  assure  you  the  name  fits  the  place  exactly.  My 
goodness  1  how  I  do  hate  the  place.  You'll  ask  why  then 
we  live  here  ?  Simply  because  we  must.  Some  misan- 
thropic relation  left  us  the  house  we  live  in,  which  saves 
rent. 

"  Yet,  if  you  were  with  me,  I  think  I  could  be  happy 
even  here.  I  don't  venture  to  ask  you.  First  of  all,  we 
couldn't  make  you  one-tenth  part  as  comfortable  as  you  are 
at  home  ;  secondly,  there  isn't  the  ghost  of  an  amusement 
here,  and  if  you  came,  you'd  go  back  to  St.  Winifred's 
with  a  fit  of  blue  devils,  as  I  always  do  ;  thirdly,  the 
change  from  Semlyn  to  Fuzby-le-Mud  would  be  like  walk- 
ing from  the  Elysian  fields  and  the  asphodel  meadows,  into 
mere  f36pf3opog,  as  old  Edwards  would  say.     So  I  don't  ask 

you  ;  and  yet  if  you  could  come why,  the  day  would 

be  marked  with  white  in  the  dull  calendar  of 

"  Your  ever  affectionate, 

"  Harry  Kenrick." 

As  Fuzby  lay  nearly  in  the  route  to  St.  Winifred's, 
Walter,  grieved  that  his  friend  should  be  doomed  to  such 
dull  holidays,  determined,  with  Mr.  Evson's  leave,  to  pay 
\fim  a  three  days'  visit  on  his  way  to  school.     Accord'ngly. 


186  IN    THE   FENS. 

towards  the  close  of  the  holidays,  after  a  hopeful,  a  joyous 
and  an  affectionate  farewell  to  all  at  home,  he  started  for 
Fuzby,  from  which  he  was  to  accompany  Kenrick  back  tt 
school. 

The  railroad,  after  leaving  far  behind  the  glorious  hills 
01  Semlyn,  passes  through  country  flatter  and  more  unin- 
teresting at  every  mile,  until  it  finds  itself  fairly  committed 
to  the  fens.  Nothing  but  dreary  dyke3,  muddy  and 
straight,  rows  of  dreary  and  desolate  mills,  occur  to  break 
the  blank  grey  monotony  of  the  landscape.  Walter  was 
looking  out  of  the  window  with  curious  eyes,  and  he  was 
wondering  what  life  in  such  conditions  could  be  like,  when 
the  train  uttered  a  despairing  scream,  and  reached  a  sta- 
tion which  the  porter  announced  as  Fuzby-le-Mud.  Walter 
jumped  down,  and  his  hand  was  instantly  seized  by  Ken- 
rick with  a  warm  and  affectionate  grasp. 

"  So  you're  really  here,  Walter.  I  can  hardly  believe 
it.  I  half  repent  having  brought  you  to  such  a  place  ;  but 
I  was  so  dull." 

"  I  shall  enjoy  it  exceedingly,  Ken,  with  you.  Shall 
I  give  my  portmanteau  to  some  man  to  take  up  to  the 
village  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  ;  here's  a ;  well,  I  may  as  well  call  it  a 

(■art  at  once — to  take  it  up  in.  The  curate  lent  it  me,  and 
he  calls  it  a  pony-carriage  ;  but  it  is,  you  see,  nothing 
more  or  less  than  a  cart.  1  hope  you  won't  be  ashamed  to 
ride  in  it." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Walter,  gaily,  mounting  into 
the  curious  little  oblouff  wooden  vehicle. 

"It  isn't  very  far,"  said  Kenrick,  "and  I  daresay  you 
don't  know  any  one  about  here ;  so  it  won't  matter." 

"  Pooh,  Ken  ;  as  if  I  minded  such  nonsense."  Indeed 
Walter  would  not  have  thought  twi?e  about  the  convey- 
ance, if  Keivick  had   not  harped  upon  't  so  much,  and 


THE    EQUIPAGE.  187 

seemed  so  much   ashamed  of  it,  and  mortified  at  being 
obliged  to  use  it. 

"  Shall  I  drive  ?"  asked  Walter. 

"  Drive  ?  Why,  the  pony  is  stone  blind,  and  as  scraggj 
as  a  scarecrow,  so  there's  not  much  driving  to  be  had  out 
of  him.  Fancy  if  the  aristocratic  Power,  or  some  other 
St.  Winifred's  fellow  saw  us  !  Why  it  would  supply  Hen- 
derson with  jokes  for  six  weeks,"  said  Kenrick,  getting  up, 
and  touching  the  old  pouy  with  his  whip.  Both  he  and 
Walter  were  wholly  unconscious  that  their  equipage  had 
been  seen,  and  contemptuously  scrutinized  by  one  of  their 
schoolfellows.  Unknown  to  Walter,  Jones  was  in  the 
train  ;  and,  after  a  long  stare  at  the  pony-chaise,  had  flung 
himself  back  in  his  seat  to  indulge  in  a  long  guffaw,  and  in 
anticipating  the  malicious  amusement  he  should  feel  in  re- 
tailing at  St.  Winifred's  the  description  of  Kenrick's  horse 
and  carriage.  Petty  malignity  was  a  main  feature  of 
Jones's  mind. 

"  That  is  Fuzby,"  said  Kenrick,  laconically,  pointing  to 
a  straggling  village  from  which  a  few  lights  were  beginning 
to  glimmer  ;  "  and  I  wish  it  were  buried  twenty  thousand 
fathoms  under  the  sea." 

Ungracious  as  the  speech  may  seem,  it  cannot  be  won- 
dered at.  A  single  muddy  road  runs  through  Fuzby. 
Except  along  this  road— muddy  and  rutty  in  winter,  dusty 
and  rutty  in  summer — no  walk  is  to  be  had.  The  fields 
are  all  more  or  less  impassable  with  ditches  aud  bogs. 
Kenrick  had  christened  it  "  The  Dreary  Swamp." 

All  this,  Kenrick's  father — who  had  been  curate  of  the 
tillage — had  fancied  would  be  at  least  endurable  to  any 
man  upheld  by  a  strong  sense  of  duty.  So  when  he  had 
married,  and  had  received  the  gift  of  a  house  in  the  vil- 
.age,  he  took  thither  his  young  and  beautiful  bride,  intend 
:ng  there  to  live  and  work  until  something  better  could  be 


188  MR.  HUGGINSON. 

obtained.  He  was  right.  But  in  making  his  calculation 
he  had  always  assumed  that  it  would  be  easy  to  get  on 
with  the  inhabitants  of  Fuzby  ;  and  here  lay  his  mistake. 

The  Vicar  of  Fuzby,  a  non-resident,  only  appeared  at 
rare  intervals  to  receive  the  adoration  which  his  flock 
never  refused  to  any  one  who  was  wealthy.  His  curate, 
having  a  very  slender  income,  came  in  for  no  share  at  all 
of  this  respect.  On  the  contrary,  the  whole  population 
assumed  a  right  to  patronise  him,  to  interfere  with  him,  to 
annoy  and  to  thwart  him.  There  was  at  Fuzby  one  squire 
— a  rich  farmer,  coarse  and  ignorant.  This  man,  being 
the  richest  person  in  the  parish,  generally  carried  every- 
thing in  his  own  way,  and  among  other  attempts  to  imitate 
the  absurdities  of  his  superiors,  had  ordered  the  sexton 
never  to  cease  ringing  the  church  bell,  however  late,  until 
he  and  his  family  had  taken  their  seats.  A  very  few  Sun- 
days after  Mr.  Kenrick's  arrival  the  bell  was  still  ringing 
eight  minutes  after  the  time  for  morning  service,  and  send- 
ing to  desire  the  sexton  to  leave  off,  he  received  the  message 
that— 

"  Mr.  Hugginson  hadn't  come  yet." 

"  I  will  not  have  the  congregation  kept  waiting  for  Mr. 
Hugginson  or  any  one  else,"  said  the  curate. 

"  Oh  zurr,  the  service  haint  begun  afore  Muster  Huggin- 
son has  come  in  this  ten  year." 

"  Then  the  sooner  Mr.  Hugginson  is  made  to  understand 
that  the  hours  of  service  are  not  to  be  altered  at  his  con* 
renience  the  better.     Let  the  bell  cease  immediately." 

But  the  sexton,  a  dogged,  bullet-headed  laborer,  took 
no  notice  whatever  of  this  injunction,  and  although  Mr. 
Kenrick  went  into  the  reading  desk,  continued  lustily  to 
ring  the  bell  until  the  whole  Hugginson  family,  furious  ttat 
their  dignity  should  thus  be  insulted,  sailed  into  church  al 
the  beginning  of  the  psalms. 


MISERABLE.  189 

Next  morning  Mr.  Kenrick  turned  the  sexton  out  of  his 
place,  and  received  a  most  wrathful  visit  from  Mr.  Hug- 
ginsou,  who,  after  pouring  on  him  a  torrent  of  abuse,  got 
scarlet  in  the  forehead,  shook  his  stick  in  Mr.  Kenrick'a 
face,  flung  his  poverty  in  his  teeth,  and  left  the  cottage, 
vowing  eternal  vengeance. 

With  him  went  all  the  Fuzby  population.  It  would  be 
long  to  tell  the  various  little  causes  which  led  to  Mr.  Ken- 
rick's  unpopularity  among  them.  Ilis  thoughts  were  not 
theirs,  nor  his  ways  their  ways. 

"  He  had  a  daily  beauty  iu  his  life 
That  made  them  ugly." 

And  so,  to  pass  briefly  and  lightly,  Fuzby  was  brimming 
over  with  the  concentrated  meanness  of  petty  natures, 
united  in  the  one  sole  object  of  worrying  the  unhappy  cu- 
rate. 

The  chief  characteristic  of  Fuzby  was  a  pestilential 
spirit  of  gossip.  There  was  no  lying  scandal,  there  was 
no  malicious  whisper,  that'did  not  thrive  with  rank  luxuri- 
ance in  that  atmosphere,  which,  at  the  same  time,  starved 
up  every  great  and  high-minded  wish.  Mr.  Kenrick  was 
one  of  the  most  exemplary,  generous,  and  pure-minded  of 
men  ;  his  only  fault  was  quickness  of  temper.  His  noble 
character,  his  conciliatory  manners,  his  cultivated  mind,  his 
Christian  forbearance,  were  all  in  vain.  He  was  poor,  and 
he  could  not  be  a  toady  ;  these  were  two  unpardonable 
sins  ;  aud  he,  a  true  man,  moved  like  an  angel  among  a 
set  of  inferior  beings.  For  a  time  he  struggled  on.  At 
last  an  unfortunate,  although  purely  accidental,  discrepancy 
was  detected  in  the  accounts  of  one  of  the  parish  charities 
which  Mr.  Kenrick  officially  managed.  Mr.  Hugginson 
6eized  his  long-looked-for  opportunity;  he  went  round  the 
parish,  and  got  a  large  number  among  the  congregation  tc 


190  A    CRUEL    BLOW. 

affirm  by  their  signatures  that  Mr.  Keurick  had  behaved 
dishonestly.  This  memorial  he  seat  to  the  bishop,  and  dis 
seminated  among  all  the  clergy  with  malicious  assiduity. 
At  the  next  clerical  meeting  Mr.  Keurick  found  himself 
most  coldly  received.  Compelled  in  self-defence  to  take 
legal  proceedings  against  the  squire,  he  found  himself  in- 
volved in  heavy  expenses.  He  won  his  cause,  and  his 
character  was  cleared  ;  but  the  jury,  attending  only  to  the 
technicalities  of  the  case,  and  conceiving  that  there  was 
enough  prima  facie  evidence  to  justify  Mr.  Hugginson's 
proceedings,  left  each  side  to  pay  its  own  costs.  These 
costs  swallowed  up  the  whole  of  the  poor  curate's  private 
resources,  and  also  involved  him  in  debt.  The  agony,  the 
suspense,  the  shame,  the  cruel  sense  of  oppression  and  in- 
justice, bore  with  a  crushing  weight  on  his  weakened  health 
He  could  not  tolerate  that  the  merest  breath  of  suspicion, 
however  false,  should  pass  over  his  fair  and  honorable 
name.  He  pined  away  in  the  flower  of  youth,  and  died 
of  a  broken  heart.  He  died  of  a  broken  heart,  and  all 
Fuzby  built  his  conspicuous  tomb,  and  shed  crocodile  tears 
over  his  pious  memory.  Truly,  as  some  one  has  said,  very 
black  stains  lie  here  and  there  athwart  the  white  conven- 
tionalities of  common  life  ! 

This  happened  when  our  little  Kenrick  was  eight  years 
old  ;  he  never  forgot  the  spectacle  of  his  poor  father's 
heart-breaking  misery  during  the  last  year  of  his  life.  He 
never  forgot  how,  during  that  year,  sorrow  and  anxiety 
had  aged  his  father's  face,  and  silvered  his  hair,  youno-  aa 
he  was,  with  premature  white,  and  so  quenched  his  spirits, 
that  he  would  often  take  his  little  boy  on  his  knee,  and 
look  upon  him  so  long  in  silence,  that  the  child  cried  at 
the  intensity  of  that  long,  mournful,  hopeless  gaze,  aud  at 
'■he  tears  which  he  saw  slowly  coursing  each  other  down 
bis  father's  careworn  aud  furrowed  cheeks.      Ever  eince 


MRS.    KENRICK.  191 

then  the  boy  had  walked  among  the  Fuzby  people  with 
open  scorn  and  defiance.  In  spite  of  his  mother's  wishes, 
he  would  not  stoop  to  pay  them  even  the  semblance  of 
courtesy.  No  wonder  that  he  hated  Fuzby  with  a  perfect 
hatred,  and  that  his  home  there  was  a  miserable  home. 

Yet  if  any  one  could  have  made  happy  a  home  in  such 
a  place,  it  would  have  been  Mrs.  Kenrick.  Never,  I  think, 
did  a  purer,  a  fairer,  a  sweeter  soul  live  on  earth,  or  one 
more  like  the  angels  of  heaven.  The  winning  grace  of 
her  manners,  the  simple  sweetness  of  her  address,  the 
pathetic  beauty  and  sadness  of  her  face,  would  have  won 
for  her,  and  had  won  for  her,  in  any  other  place  but  Fuzby, 
the  love  and  admiration  which  were  her  due.  But  at 
Fuzby  she  found  nothing  but  insulting  coldness,  or  still 
more  insulting  patronage.  Poor  lady  !  her  life  had  been 
one  long  martyrdom,  all  the  more  hard  to  bear  because  it 
was  made  up  for  the  most  part  of  small  annoyances,  petty 
mortifications.  And  now,  during  the  seven  years  of  her 
widowhood,  she  had  gained  a  calmer  and  serener  atmos- 
phere, in  which  she  was  raised  above  the  possibility  of  hu- 
miliation. They  could  hurt  her  feelings,  they  could  embit- 
ter her  days  no  longer.  To  the  hopes  and  pleasures  of 
earth  she  had  bidden  farewell.  Still  young,  still  beautiful, 
she  had  reached  the  fidl  maturity  of  Christian  life,  meekly 
bearing  disappointment  and  poverty,  looking  only  for  that 
rest  which  remain eth  to  the  people  of  God,  in  her  lonely 
home,  with  no  friend  to  whom  she  could  turn  for  counsel 
or  for  consolation. 

The  one  tie  that  bound  her  to  earth  was  her  orphan  son 
—  her  hope,  her  pride;  all  her  affections  were  centered  in 
that  boy.  Harry  Kenrick  did  indeed  love  his  mother  ;  he 
would  have  born  anything  rather  than  see  her  suffer  any 
great  pain ;  but  his  manners  were  too  often  cold,  his  con- 
duct wilful  or  thoughtless.     He  did  cot  love  her  —  perhapf 


L92  iIIE    FUZBT    BLIGHT. 

uo  child  can  love  his  parents — with  all  the  abandon  and 
intensity  wherewith  she  loved  him.  A  blight  lay  upon 
Kenrick  whenever  he  was  at  home — Lhe  Fuzby  blight 
he  called  it.  He  hated  the  place  so  much,  he  hated  the 
people  in  it  so  much,  he  felt  the  annoyances  of  their  situa- 
tion with  so  keen  and  fretful  a  sensibility,  that  at  Fuzby. 
even  though  with  his  mother,  he  was  never  happy.  At 
school  he  was  bright,  warm-hearted,  and  full  of  life  ;  at 
home  he  seemed  to  draw  himself  into  a  shell  of  reserve 
and  coldness  ;  and  it  was  a  deep  unspoken  trial  to  that 
gentle  mother's  heart  that  she  could  not  make  home  happy 
to  the  boy  whom  she  so  fondly  loved,  and  that  even  to  her 
lit  seemed  indifferent  ;  for  his  manners — since  he  had  been 
to  school  and  learned  how  very  differently  other  boys  were 
circumstanced,  and  what  untold  pleasures  centered  for  them 
in  that  word  "  home  " — were  to  her  always  shy  and  silent, 
appeared  sometimes  almost  harsh. 

IS'o  mother  could  have  brought  up  her  child  more  wisely, 
more  tenderly,  with  more  undivided  and  devoted  care. 
Harry's  heart  was  true  could  she  have  looked  into  it  ;  but 
at  Fuzby  a  cold,  repellant  manner  fell  on  him  like  a  mil- 
dew. And  Mrs.  Kenrick  wept  in  silence,  as  she  thought 
— though  it  was  not  true — that  even  her  own  son  did  not 
love  her  as  she  had  hoped  he  would.  It  was  the  last  bit- 
ter drop  in  that  overflowing  cup  which  it  had  pleased  God 
that  she  should  be  called  upon  to  drink. 

The  boys  drove  up  to  the  door  of  the  little  cottage.  It 
stood  in  a  garden.  They  were  greeted  by  Mrs.  Kenrick's 
soft  and  pleasant  voice. 

"Well,  dear  Harry,  I  am  delighted  that  you  have 
brought  back  your  friend." 

Harry's  mind  was  pre-occupied  with  the  poverty-stricken 
aspect  which  he  thought  the  house  must  present  to  hi 
friend,  and  he  did  not  answer  her,  but  said  to  Walter : 


VKKY    SAD.  193 

"Well,  Walter,  here  is  the  hut  we  inhabit  We  have 
only  one  girl  as  a  servant.  I'll  carry  up  the  box  I  do 
pretty  nearly  everything  but  clean  the  shoes." 

Mrs.  Kenriek's  eyes  filled  with  sad  tears  at  the  bitter 
wo^ds  ;  but  she  checked  them  to  greet  Walter,  who  ad- 
vanced aud  shook  her  by  the  hand  so  cordially,  and  with  a 
manner  so  respectfully  affectionate,  that  he  won  her  neart 
at  once. 

"  Harry  has  not  yet  learned,"  she  said,  playfully,  "  that 
poverty  is  not  a  thing  to  be  ashamed  of ;  but  I  am  sure. 
Walter — forgive  my  using  the  name  which  my  boy  had 
made  so  familiar  to  me — that  you  will  not  mind  any  little 
inconvenience  during  your  short  stay  with  us." 

"  Oh,  no,  Mrs.  Keurick,"  said  Walter  ;  "  to  be  with  you 
aud  him  will  be  the  greatest  possible  enjoyment." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  flap  our  poverty  in  every  one's 
face,  mother,"  said  Kenrick,  almost  angrily,  when  Walter 
had  barely  left  the  room. 

"  Oh,  Harry,  Harry,"  said  Mrs.  Kenrick,  speaking  sadly, 
"you  surely  forget,  dear  boy,  that  it  is  your  mother  to 
whom  you  are  speaking.  Oh,  Harry,  when  will  you  learn 
to  be  contented  with  the  dispensations  of  God  ?  Believe 
me,  dearest,  we  might  make  our  poverty  as  happy  as  any 
wealth,  if  we  would  but  have  eyes  to  see  the  blessings  it 
involves." 

The  boy  turned  away  impatiently,  and  as  he  ran  up- 
stairs to  rejoin  hia  friend,  the  lady  sat  down  with  a  dee]; 
Buj;h  to  her  work. 


CHAPTER  THE   TWENTY-SECOND. 

BIRDS    OF   A    FEATHER. 

WALTER  could  not  help  hearing  a  part  of  this  cza 
versation,   and  he  was  pained  and  surprised  that 
Kenrick,  whom  he  had  regarded  as  so  fine  a  cha 
racter,  should  show  his  worst  side  at  home,  and  should 
Bpeak  and  act  thus  unkindly  to  one  whom  he  was  so  deeply 
bound  to  loye  and  reverence.     And  he  was  even  more  sur- 
prised when  he  went  down  stairs  again  and  looked  on  the 
calm  face  of  his  friend's  mother,  so  lovely,  so  gentle,  so  re- 
signed, and  felt  the  charm  of  manners  which,  in  their  nat- 
ural grace  and  sweetness,  might  have   shed   lustre   on  a 
court.     All  that  he  could  himself  do  was  to  show  by  his 
manner  to  Mrs.  Kenrick   the  affection  and   respect  with 
which  he  regarded  her.     When  he  hinted  to  Kenrick,  as 
delicately  and  distantly  as  he  could,  that  he  thought  his 
manner  to  his  mother   rather  brusque,  Kenrick  reddened 
rather  angrily,  but  only  replied,  "  Ah,  it's  all  very  well  for 
you  to  talk  ;   but  you  don't  live  at  Fuzby." 

"  Yet  I've  enjoyed  my  visit  very  much,  Ken  ;  you  can't 
think  how  much  I  love  your  mother." 

"  Thank  you,  Walter,   for  saying  so.     But  how  would 
you  like  to  live  always  at  such  a  place  ?" 

"  If  I  did  I  should  do  my  best  to  make  it  happy." 

"  Make  it  happy .'"  said  Kenrick,  as  he  turned  away 
Soon  after  he  told  Walter  some  of  those  circumstances 
about  his  father's  life  which  we  have  recently  related. 

When  the  three  days  were  over  the  boys  started  for  St 

'04 


back  to  st.  winifred'b.  195 

Winifred's.  They  drove  to  the  station  in  the  pony-chaise 
before  described,  accompanied,  against  Kenrick's  will,  by 
his  mother.  She  bore  up  bravely  as  she  bade  them  good- 
bye, knowing  the  undemonstrative  character  of  boys,  and 
Beeing  that  they  were  both  in  the  merriest  ruood.  She 
knew,  too,  that  their  gaiety  was  natural  :  the  world  lay 
before  tkem,  bright  and  seductive,  with  no  shadow  across 
its  light  ;  nor  was  she  all  in  all  to  Harry  as  h-3  was  to  her. 
He  had  other  hopes,  and  other  ties  ;  and  remembering  this 
she  tried  not  to  grieve  that  he  should  leavu  her  with  so 
light  a  heart.  But  as  she  turned  away  fron  the  platform 
when  the  train  had  started,  taking  with  it  all  that  she  held 
dearest  iu  the  world,  and  as  she  walked  bacl«  to  the  lonely 
home  which  had  nothing  but  faith — for  there  was  not  even 
hope — to  brighten  it,  the  quiet  tears  flowed  fast  over  the 
fair  face  beneath  her  veil.  Yet  as  she  crossed  ever  her 
lonely  threshold  her  thoughts  were  not  even  then  for  her- 
self, but  they  carried  her  on  the  wings  of  prayer  to  the 
throne  of  mercy  for  the  beloved  boy  from  whom  she  ^as 
again  to  be  separated  for  nearly  five  long  months. 

The  widowed  mother  wept  ;  but  the  boy's  spirits  rose  as 
he  drew  closer  to  the  hills  and  to  the  sea,  which  told  him 
that  St.  Winifred's  was  near.  He  talked  happily  with 
Walter  about  the  coming  half — eager  with  ambition,  with 
hope,  with  high  spirits,  and  fine  resolutions.  He  clapped 
his  hands  with  pleasure  when  they  reached  the  top  of 
Bardlyn  hill  and  caught  sight  of  the  school  buildings. 

Having  had  a  long  distance  to  travel  they  were  among 
the  late  arrivals,  aud  at  the  great  gate  stood  Henderson 
and  Power  ready  to  greet  them  and  the  other  boys  who 
came  with  them  in  the  same  coach.  Among  these  were 
Eden  and  Bliss. 

"  Ah,  Eden,"  said  Henderson,  "  I've  been  writing  a 
poein  about  you — 


196  GREETINGS. 

4  I'm  a  shrimp,  I'm  a  shrimp  of  diminutive  size, 
Inspect  my  antenna;  and  look  at  my  eyes  ; 
Quick,  quick,  feel  me  quick,  for  cannot  you  see 
I'm  a  shrimp,  I'm  a  shrimp,  to  be  eaten  with  tea !' 

u  And  who's  this  ? — why,"  he  said,  clasping  his  hands  and 
throwing  up  his  eyes  in  mock  rapture,  "  this  indeed  ia 
Bliss  1" 

"'  I'll  lick  you,  Flip,"  said  Bliss,  only  in  a  more  good-hu- 
mored tone  than  usual,  as  he  hit  at  him. 

"  I  think  I've  heard  that  observation  before,"  said  Hen- 
derson, dodging  away.  "  Ah,  Walter,  how  do  you  do,  my 
dear  old  fellow  ?  I  hope  you're  sitting  on  the  throne  of 
health,  and  reclining  under  the  canopy  of  a  well-organised 
brain." 

"  More  than  you  are,  Flip,"  said  Walter,  laughing. 
"  You  seem  madder  than  ever." 

"  That  he  is,"  said  Power  ;  "  since  his  return  he's  made 
ou  an  average  fifteen  thousand  bad  puns.  You  ought  to 
be  grateful,  though,  for  he  and  I  have  got  some  coffee  go- 
ing for  you  in  my  study.  Come  along  ;  the  Familiar  will 
Bee  that  your  luggage  is  all  right." 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  shall  make  bold  to  bring  in  a  shrimp  to 
tea,"  said  Henderson,  seizing  hold  of  Eden. 

"  All  right.  I  meant  to  ask  you,  Eden,"  said  Power, 
shaking  the  little  boy  affectionately  by  the  hand,  "  havo 
you  enjoyed  the  holidays  ?" 

"  Not  very  much,"  said  Eden. 

"  You're  not  looking  as  bright  as  I  should  like,"  said 
Power  ;  "  never  mind  ;  if  you  didu't  enjoy  the  holidays 
you  must  enjoy  the  half." 

"That  I  shall  I  hope,  Walter,  you'll  be  in  the  sam€ 
dormitory  still.     What  shall  I  do  if  you're  not  ?" 

"  Oh,  how's  that  to  be,  Flip  1"  asked  Walter ;  "  you  said 
70u'd  try  to  get  some  of  us  put  together  in  one;  dormitory." 


CHANGES.  197 

That  would  be  awfully  jolly.  I  don't  want  to  leave  you, 
Edeu,  and  would  like  you  to  be  moved  too  ;  but  I  can't 
bear  Harpour  and  that  lot." 

"  I've  partly  managed  it,  and  partly  failed,"  said  Hender- 
bon.  "  You  and  the  shrimp  still  stay  with  the  rest  of  the 
set  in  No.  10;  but  as  there  was  a  vacant  bed,  I  got  myself 
put  there  too." 

"  Hurrah  1"  said  Walter  and  Eden,  both  at  once;  "  that's 
capital " 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Walter  ;  "  there  are  Jones  and  Har- 
pour— brutes,  certainly,  both  of  them — and  Cradock;  well, 
he's — but  he's  not  altogether  bad  ;  and  Anthony,  and 
Franklin,  who  are  both  far  jollier  than  they  used  to  be — 
indeed  I  like  old  Franklin  very  much — so  with  you  and 
Eden  we  shall  get  on  famously." 

The  first  few  days  of  term  passed  very  pleasantly.  The 
masters  met  the  boys  in  the  kindliest  spirit,  and  the  boys, 
fresh  from  home,  and  with  the  sweetest  influences  of  home 
still  playing  over  them,  did  not  begin  at  once  to  rewcave 
the  ravelled  threads  of  evil  school  tradition.  They  were 
all  on  good  terms  with  each  other  and  with  themselves,  full 
of  good  resolutions,  cheerful,  aud  happy. 

All  our  boys  had  got  their  removes.  Walter  had  won  a 
double  remove,  and  was  now  under  his  friend  Mr.  Percival. 
Kcurick  was  in  the  second  fifth,  and  Power,  young  as  he 
was,  had  now  attained  the  upper  fifth,  which  stands  next 
to  the  dignity  of  the  monitors  and  the  sixth. 

The  first  Sunday  of  term  was  a  glorious  day  of  early  au- 
tumn, and  the  boys,  according  to  their  custom,  scattered 
themselves  in  various  groups  in  the  grounds  about  St.  Wini- 
fred's School.  The  favorite  place  of  resort  was  a  broad 
green  field  at  the  back  of  the  buildings,  shaded  by  noble 
trees,  and  half  encircled  by  a  bend  of  the  river.  Here,  on 
a  fine  Sunday,  between  dinner  and  afternoon  school,  you 


1.98  POWER   AND   WALTER. 

were  sare  to  find  a  great  majority  of  the  boys,  walking  arm- 
in-arm,  Ly  twos  and  threes,  or  sitting  with  books  on  the 
willow  trunks  that  overhung  the  stream,  or  stretched  out 
at  full  leugth  upon  the  grass,  aud  lazily  learning  their 
Scripture  repetition. 

It  was  a  sweet  spot  and  a  pleasant  time  ;  but  Walter 
generally  preferred  his  beloved  sea-shore;  and  on  this  after- 
noon  he  was  sitting  there,  talking  to  Power,  while  Eden, 
perched  on  the  top  of  a  piece  of  rock  close  by,  kept  mur- 
muring to  himself  his  afternoon  lesson.  The  conversation 
of  the  two  boys  turned  chiefly  on  the  holidays  which  were 
just  over,  and  Power  was  asking  Walter  about  his  visit  to 
Kenrick's  house. 

"  How  did  you  enjoy  the  visit,  Walter  ?" 

"  Very  much  for  some  things.  Mrs.  Kenrick  is  the 
Bweetest  lady  you  ever  saw." 

"  But  Ken  is  always  abusing  Fuzby — isn't  that  the  name  V 

"  Yes.  It  isn't  a  particularly  jolly  place,  certainly  ;  but 
he  doesn't  make  the  best  of  it.  He  makes  up  his  mind  to 
detest  it. 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Oil,  I  don't  know.  They  didn't  treat  his  father  well. 
His  father  was  curate  of  the  place." 

"  As  far  as  I've  seen,  Fuzby  isn't  singular  in  that  respect. 
It's  no  easy  thing,  in  most  places,  for  a  poor  clergyman  to 
keep  on  good  terms  with  his  people." 

"  Yes;  but  Ken's  father  does  seem  to  have  been  abomin- 
ably treated."  And  Walter  proceeded  to  tell  Power  the 
parts  of  Mr,  Kenrick's  history  which  Kenrick  had  told 
him. 

When  he  had  finished  the  story,  he  observed  that  Eden 
had  shut  up  his  book  and  was  listening  intently. 

"  Hallo,  Arty  1"  said  Walter,  "  I  didn't  mean  yon  to 
war," 


AN    INDISCRETION.  199 

"  Didn't  you  ?  I'm  so  sorry.  I  really  didn't  know  you 
meant  to  oe  talking  secrets,  for  you  weren't  talking  particu- 
larly low." 

"  The  noise  of  the  waves  prevents  that.  But  never 
mind  ;  I  don't  suppose  it's  any  secret.  Ken  never  told  me 
not  to  mention  it.  Only,  of  course,  you  mustn't  tell  any 
one,  you  know,  as  it  clearly  isn't  a  thing  to  be  talked 
about." 

"  No,"  said  Eden  ;  "  I  won't  mention  it,  of  course.  So 
other  people  have  unhappy  homes  as  well  as  me,"  he  added, 
in  a  low  tone. 

"  What  1  isn't  your  home  happy,  Arty  ?"  asked  Power. 

Eden  shook  his  head.  "It  used  to  be,  but  this  holt- 
days  mamma  married  again.  She  married  Colonel  Brae- 
mer,  and  I  ca/rUt  bear  him."  The  words  were  said  so  ener- 
getically as  to  leave  no  doubt  that  he  had  some  grounds 
for  the  dislike  ;  but  Power  said  : 

"  Hush,  Arty,  you  must  try  to  like  him.  Are  yoa  sure 
you  know  your  Rep.  perfectly  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  let's  take  a  turn  till  the  bell  rings." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on  by  the  shore,  a 
very  different  scene  was  beiug  enacted  in  the  Croft,  as 
the  field  was  called  which  I  above  described. 

It  happened  that  Jones,  and  one  of  his  set,  named 
Mackworth,  were  walking  up  and  down  the  Croft  in  one 
direction,  while  Kenrick  and  Whalley,  one  of  his  friends, 
were  pacing  up  and  down  the  same  avenue  in  the  opposite 
direction,  so  that  the  four  boys  passed  each  other  every  five 
minutes.  The  first  time  they  met,  Kenrick  could  not  help 
noticing  that  Jones  and  Mackworth  nudged  each  other 
derisively  as  he  passed,  and  looked  at  him  with  a  glance 
unmistakably  impudent.  This  rather  surprised  him,  though 
he  was  on  bad  terms  with  them  both.     Kenrick  had  not 


"200  MACKWORTU. 

forgotten  how  grossly  Jones  had  bullied  him  when  he  was 
a  new  boy,  and  before  he  had  risen  out  of  the  sphere  in 
which  Jones  could  dare  to  with  impunity.  He  was  now  so 
high  in  the  school  as  to  be  well  aware  that  Jones  would  be 
nearly  as  much  afraid  to  touch  him  as  he  always  was  to 
annoy  any  one  of  his  own  size  and  strength  ;  and  Kenrick 
nad  never  hesitated  to  show  Jones  the  quiet  but  quite  mea- 
sureless contempt  which  he  felt  for  his  malice  and  meanness 
Mackworth  was  a  bully  of  another  stamp.  He  was  rather  a 
clever  fellow ;  set  himself  up  for  an  aristocrat  on  the  strength 
of  being  second  cousin  to  a  baronet,  studied  "  De  Brett's 
Peerage,"  dressed  as  faultlessly  as  Tracy  himself,  and  affected 
at  all  times  a  studious  politeness  of  manner.  He  had  been 
a  good  deal  abroad  ;  and  as  he  constantly  adopted  the  airs 
and  the  graces  of  a  fashionable  person,  the  boys  had  felicit- 
ously named  him  French  Varnish.  But  Mackworth  was  a 
dangerous  enemy,  for  he  had  one  of  the  most  biting  tongues 
in  the  whole  school,  and  there  were  few  things  which  he 
enjoyed  more  than  making  a  young  boy  wince  under  his 
cutting  words.  When  Kenrick  came  to  school,  his  ward- 
robe, the  work  of  Fuzbeian  artists,  was  not  only  well  worn 
— for  his  mother  was  too  poor  to  give  him  new  clothes— 
but  also  of  a  somewhat  odd  cut ;  and  accordingly  the  very 
first  words  Mackworth  had  ever  addressed  to  Kenrick 
were — 

"  You  new  fellow,  what's  your  fathei  ?" 

"  My  father  is  dead,"  said  Kenrick,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Then  what  was  he  ?" 

"  He  was  curate  of  Fuzby." 

"  Curate,  was  he  ?  A  slashing  trade  that,"  waa  the 
teply.    "  Curate  of  Fuzby  !    Are  you  sure  it  isn't  Fusty  ?'-' 

Kenrick  looked  at  him  with  a  strange  glowing  of  th« 
syes,  which,  so  far  from  disconcerting  Mackworth,  only 
made  him  chuckle  at  the  success  of  his  taunt.     He  deter 


JONES    AND    MACKWOKTH.  201 

mined  to  exercise  the  lancet  of  his  tongue  again,  and  lei 
fresh  blood  if  possible." 

"  Well,  giare-eyes  1  so  you  didn't  like  my  remark  ?" 

"  Kenrick  made  no  answer,  and  Mackworth  continued— 

"  What  charity-boy  has  left  you  his  cast-off  clothes  ? 
May  I  ask  if  your  jacket  was  intended  to  serve  also  as  a 
looking-glass  ?  and  is  it  the  custom  in  your  part  of  the 
country  not  to  wear  breeches  below  the  knees  ?" 

There  was  a  corrosive  malice  in  this  speech  so  intense 
that  Kenrick  never  saw  Mackworth  without  recalling  the 
shame  and  anguish  it  had  caused.  Fresh  from  home,  full 
of  quick  sensibility,  feeling  ridicule  with  great  keenness, 
Kenrick  was  too  much  pained  by  these  words  even  for 
anger.  He  had  hung  his  head  and  slunk  away.  For  days 
after,  until,  at  his  most  earnest  entreaty,  his  mother  had 
incurred  much  privation  to  afford  him  a  new  and  better 
suit,  he  had  hardly  dared  to  lift  up  his  face.  He  had  fan- 
cied himself  a  mark  for  ridicule,  and  the  sense  of  shabbiness 
and  poverty  had  gone  far  to  crush  his  spirit.  After  a  time 
he  recovered  ;  but  never  since  that  day  had  he  deigned  to 
speak  to  Mackworth  a  single  word. 

He  was  surprised,  therefore,  at  the  obtrusive  imperti- 
nence of  these  two  fellows;  and  when  next  he  passed  them, 
he  surveyed  them  from  head  to  foot  with  a  haughty  and 
indignant  stare.  The  moment  after  he  heard  them  burst 
into  a  laugh,  ajid  begin  talking  very  loud. 

"  It  was  the  rummiest  vehicle  you  ever  saw,"  he  heard 
Jones  say  ;  "  a  cart,  I  assure  you — nothing  more  or  less, 
and  drawn  by  the  very  scraggiest  scarecrow  of  a  blind 
horse  "... 

He  caught  no  more  as  the  distance  between  them  less 
eued  ;  but  he  heard  Jones  bubbling  over  with  a  stupid  gig- 
gle at  some  remark  of  Mackworth's  about  glare  eyes  being 
Irawn  by  a  blind  horse. 

9* 


202  A   FRACAS. 

"  How   rude   those  fellows  are,    Ken  !"  said   Whalley 
"  What  do  they  mean  by  it  V 

"  Dogs  !"  said  Kenrick,  stamping  angrily,  while  his  face 
was  scarlet  with  rage. 

"  If  they're  trying  to  annoy  you,  Ken,"  said  Whalley, 
who  was  a  very  gentle,  popular  boy,  "  don't  give  them 
the  triumph  of  seeing  that  they  succeed.  They're  only 
Varnish  and  Whitefeather  ; — we  all  know  what  they're 
like." 

"  Dogs  !"  said  Kenrick  again  ;  "  I  should  like  to  pitch 
into  them." 

"  Let's  leave  them,  and  go  and  sit  by  the  river,  Ken." 

"  No,  Whalley.  I'm  sure  they  mean  to  insult  me,  and 
I  want  to  hear  how  and  why." 

There  was  no  difficulty  in  doing  this,  for  Jones  and  hia 
ally  were  again  approaching,  and  Jones  was  talking  pur- 
posely loud. 

"  I  never  could  bear  the  fellow  ;  gives  himself  such  airs." 

"  Yes  ;  only  fancy  going  to  meet  his  friends  in  a  hay« 
waggon  !  what  a  start !    Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !" 

"It's  such  impudence  in  a  low  fellow  like  that"  .  . 
and  here  Kenrick  lost  some  words,  for,  as  they  passed, 
Tones  lowered  his  voice  ;  but  he  heard,  only  too  plainly, 
the  words  "  father  "  and  dishonest  parson  ;" — the  rest  he 
could  supply. 

For  half  an  instant  he  looked  paralyzed,  his  eyes  burn- 
ing with  fury,  but  his  face  pale  as  ashes.  The  next  second 
he  sprang  upon  Jones,  seized  with  both  hands  the  collar  of 
his  coat,  shook  him,  flung  him  violently  to  the  ground,  and 
kicked  his  hat,  which  had  fallen  off  in  the  struggle,  straight 
aito  the  river. 

"  What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  asked  Jones, 
picking  himself  up.  "  I'll  just  give  you — fifth  form,  or  nc 
ftfth  form — the  best  licking  you  ever  had  " 


A    SCENE.  203 

"  You'll  just  not  presume  to  lay  upon  him  the  tip  of 
your  finger,"  said  Whalley,  who  was  quite  as  big  as  Jones, 
and  was  very  fond  of  Kenrick. 

"  Not  for  flinging  me  down,  and  kicking  my  hat  into  the 
water  ?" 

"  No,  Jones,"  said  Whalley,  quietly.  "  I  don't  know 
what  you  were  talking  about,  but  you  clearly  meant  to  in- 
sult hiin,  from  your  manner." 

"  What's  the  row  ?  what's  up  ?"  said  a  number  of  boys, 
who  began  to  throng  round. 

"  Only  a  plebeian  splutter  of  rage  from  our  well-bred 
friend  there,"  said  Mackworth,  pointing  contemptuously  at 
Kenrick,  who  stood  with  dilated  nostrils,  still  heaving 
with  rage. 

"  But  what  about  ?" 

"  Heaven  only  knows  ; — apropos  of  just  nothing." 

"  You're  a  liar,"  said  Kenrick,  impetuously.  "  You 
know  that  you  told  lies  and  insulted  me  ;  and  if  you  say  it 
again,  I'll  do  the  same  again." 

"  Only  try  !"  said  Jones,  in  a  surly  tone. 

"  Insulted  you  V  said  Mackworth,  in  bland  accents. 
"We  were  talking  about  a  dishonest  parson,  as  far  as  I  re- 
member.    Pray,  are  you  a  dishonest  parson  ?" 

"  You'd  better  take  care,"  said  Kenrick,  with  fierce 
energy. 

"  Take  care  of  what  ?  We  didn't  ask  you  to  listen  to 
our  conversation  ;  listeners  hear  no  " 

"  Bosh  !"  interposed  Whalley  ;  "  you  know  you  were 
talking  at  the  top  of  your  voices,  and  we  couldn't  help 
hearing  you." 

"  And  what  then  ?  Mayn't  we  talk  as  loud  as  we  like  ? 
—I  assure  you,  on  my  word  of  honor,"  he  said,  turning  to 
the  group  around  them,  "  we  didn't  even  mention  Kenrick's 
name.     We  were  merely  talking  about  a  certain  dishonest 


204  WHALLET. 

parson  who  rode  in  hay-carts,  when  the  fellow  sprung  on 
Jones  like  a  tiger-cat.  I'm  sure,  if  he's  any  objection  to 
our  talking  of  such  unpleasant  people,  we  won't  do  so  in 
his  hearing,"  said  Mackworth,  in  an  excess  of  venomous 
politeness. 

"  French  varnish,"  said  Whalley,  with  honest  contempt, 
moved  beyond  his  wont  with  indignation,  though  he  did  not 
understand  the  cause  of  Kenrick's  anger.  "  I  wonder  why 
Kenrick  should  even  condescend  to  notice  what  such  fellows 
as  you  and  Jones  say. — Come  along,  Ken  ;  you  know  what 
we  all  think  about  those  two  ;  and,  putting  his  arm  in  Ken- 
rick's, he  almost  dragged  him  from  the  scene,  while  Jones 
and  Mackworth  (conscious  that  there  was  not  a  single 
other  boy  who  would  not  condemn  their  conduct  as  infa- 
mous when  they  understood  it)  were  not  sorry  to  move  off 
in  another  direction. 

But  when  Whalley  had  taken  Kenrick  to  a  quiet  place 
by  the  river  side,  and  asked  him  "  what  had  made  him  so 
furious  ?"  he  returned  no  answer,  only  hiding  his  face  in 
his  hands.  He  had  indeed  been  cruelly  insulted,  wounded 
in  his  tenderest  sensibilities  ;  he  felt  that  his  best  affec- 
tions had  been  wantonly  and  violently  lacerated.  It  made 
him  more  miserable  than  he  had  ever  felt  before,  and  he 
could  not  tolerate  the  wretched  thought  that  his  father's 
sad  history,  probably  in  some  distorted  form,  had  been,  by 
some  means  or  other,  bruited  about  among  unsympathising 
hearers,  and  made  the  common  property  of  the  school.  He 
knew  well  indeed  the  natural  delicacy  of  feeling  which 
would  prevent  any  other  boy,  except  Jones  or  Mackworth, 
from  ever  alluding  to  it  even  in  the  remotest  way.  But 
that  they  should  know  at  all  the  shameful  charge  which 
had  broken  his  father's  heart,  and  brought  temporary 
suspicion  and  dishonor  on  his  name,  was  gall  and  worm- 
wood to  him. 


A    DARK    SUSPICION.  205 

Yet,  by  what  possible  means  coiud  this  have  lecome  motor, 
tc  them?     Kcnrick  knew  of  one  way  only.     He  thought 

over  what  Jones  had  said.     "  A  cart  and  blind  horse 

ah  !  I  see  ;  there  is  only  one  person  who  could  have  told 
him  about  that.  So,  Walter  Evson,  you  amuse  yourself 
and  Jones  by  making  fun  of  our  being  poor,  and  by  ridi 
culing  what  you  saw  in  our  house  ;  a  very  good  laugh 
you've  all  had  over  it  in  the  dormitory,  I've  no  doubt." 

He  clutched  angrily  at  the  conclusion,  that  Walter  had 
betrayed  him,  and  turned  him  into  derision.  Naturally 
passionate,  growing  up  without  a  father's  wise  control,  he 
did  not  stop  to  inquire,  but  leapt  at  once  to  a  false  and 
obstinate  inference.  "  It  must  be  so  ;  it  clearly  is  so  ;  yet 
I  could  not  have  believed  it  of  him  ;"  and  he  burst  into  a 
flood  of  bitter  and  angry  tears. 

The  fact  was  that  Kenrick  was  in  a  particularly  ready 
mood  to  take  offence.  lie  had  observed  that  Waltei 
disapproved  of  his  manner  towards  his  mother,  and  his 
sensitive  pride  had  already  been  ruffled  by  the  fact  that 
Walter  had  exercised  the  moral  courage  of  pointing  out. 
though  in  the  most  delicate  and  modest  way,  the  brusquerie 
which  he  reprobated.  At  the  time  he  had  said  little,  but 
in  reality  this  had  made  him  very,  very  angry  ;  and  the 
more  so  because  he  was  jealous  enough  to  fanc>  that  he 
now  stood  second  only,  or  even  third,  in  Walter's  estima- 
tion, and  that  Power  and  Henderson  had  deposed  bun  from 
the  place  which  he  once  held  as  his  chief  friend  ;  and  that 
Walter  had  also  usurped  his  old  place  in  their  affections. 
This  displeased  him  greatly,  for  he  was  not  one  who  could 
contentedly  take  the  second  place.  He  could  not  have  had 
a  more  excellent  companion  than  the  manly  and  upright 
Whalley  ;  but  in  his  close  intimacy  with  him  he  had  ra- 
ther hoped  to  pique  Walter,  and  show  him  that  his  society 
tvas  not  indispensable  to  his  happiness.     But  Walter's  opev 


206  A    HASTY    INFERENCE. 

and  generous  mind  was  quite  incapable  of  understanding 
this  unworthy  motive,  and  with  feelings  far  better  trained 
than  those  of  Kenrick,  he  never  felt  the  slightest  qualm  of 
this  small  jealousy. 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Whalley,  patting 
him  on  the  back  ;  "  why  should  you  care  so  much  because 
two  such  fellows  as  Whitefeather  and  Varnish  try  to  be 
impudent  ?  I  shouldn't  care  the  snap  of  a  finger  for  any- 
thing they  could  say." 

"  It  isn't  that,  Whalley,  it  isn't  that,"  said  Kenrick, 
proudly,  drying  his  tears.  "  But  how  did  those  fellows 
know  the  things  they  were  hinting  at  ?  Only  one  person 
ever  heard  them,  and  he  must  have  betrayed  them  to 
laugh  at  me  behind  my  back.  It's  that  that  makes  me 
miserable." 

"  But  whom  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  The  excellent  Evson,"  said  Kenrick,  bitterly,  "  And 
mark  me,  Whalley,  I'll  never  speak  to  him  again." 

"  Evson'!"  said  Whalley,  "  I  don't  believe  he's  at  all  the 
fellow  to  do  it.     Are  you  certain  ?" 

"  Quite.     No  one  else  could  know  the  things." 

"  But  surely  you'll  ask  him  first  ?" 

"  It's  no  use,"  answered  Kenrick.  gloomily  ;  "  but  I 
will,  in  order  that  he  may  understand  that  I  have  found 
him  out." 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY  THIRD. 

A    BROKEN    FRIENDSHIP. 

EENRICK  did  not  happen  to  meet  Walter  during  the 
remainder  of  that  Sunday,  because  Walter  wag 
chiefly  sitting  in  Mr.  Percival's  room,  but  the  next 
day,  still  nursing  the  smouldering  fire  of  his  anger,  he  de- 
termined to  get  the  first  opportunity  he  could  of  meeting 
him,  in  order  that  he  might  tax  him  with  his  supposed  false 
friendship  and  breach  of  confidence. 

Accordingly,  when  school  was  over  next  day,  he  'went 
with  Whalley  to  look  for  him  in  the  playground.  Walter 
was  walking  with  Henderson,  never  dreaming  that  anything 
unpleasant  was  likely  to  happen.  Henderson  was  the  first 
to  catch  sight  of  them,  and  as  he  never  saw  Whalley  with- 
out chaffing  him  in  some  ridiculous  way  or  other — for 
Whalley's  charming  good  humor  made  him  a  capital  sub- 
ject for  a  joke — he  at  once  began  to  sing — w  hereupon  his 
song  was  interrupted  by  Whalleyrs  giving  chase  to  him, 
which  did  not  end  till  he  had  been  led  a  dance  half  round 
the  school  buildings,  while  the  ground  was  left  clear  for 
Kenrick's  expostulations. 

Walter  came  up  to  him  as  cordially  as  usual,  but  stop- 
ped short  in  surprise,  when  he  caught  the  scornful,  lower- 
ing expression  of  his  friend's  face  ;  but  as  Kenrick  did  not 
speak  at  once,  he  took  him  by  the  hand  and  said,  "  Why, 
Ken,  what's  the  matter  ?" 

Kenrick  very  coldly  withdrew  his  hand 

"  Evson,  I  came  to  ask  you  if — whether — if  you've  beeD 


208  A    SERIOUS    CHARGE 

telling  to  any  of  the  fellows  all  about  me  ; — all  I  told  yon 
about  my  father  ?" 

As  Walter  instantly  remembered  that  he  had  mentioned 
the  story  to  Power,  he  could  not  at  once  say  "  No,"  but 
was  about  to  explain. 

"Telling  any  of  the  fellows  all  about  you  and  your 
father  ?"  he  repeated  ;  "  I  didn't  know" 

"  Please,  I  don't  want  any  excuses.  If  you  haven't,  it's 
easy  to  say  No  ;  if  you  have,  I  only  want  you  to  say  Yes." 

"  But  you  never  told  me  that  I  wasn't  to" 

"  Yes  or  no  ?"  said  Kenrick,  with  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  say  Yes,  then  ;  but  hear  me 
explain.     I  only  mentioned  it  to" 

"  That's  enough,  thank  you.  I  don't  want  to  hear  any 
more.  I  don't  want  to  know  whom  you  mentioned  it  to  ;,; 
and  Kenrick  turned  short  on  his  heel,  and  began  to  walk  off 

"  But  hear  me,  Ken,"  said  Walter  eagerly,  walking  after 
him,  and  laying  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  My  name's  Kenrick,"  said  he,  shaking  off  Walter's 
hand.  "  You  may  apologise  if  you  like  ;  but  even  then  I 
shan't  speak  to  you  again." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  apologise  for.     I  only  told" 

"  I  tell  you  I  don't  care  whom  you  '  only'  told.  It's 
'  only'  all  over  the  school.  And  it's  not  the  '  only'  time 
you've  behaved  dishonorably." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Walter,  who  was  rapidly 
getting  into  as  great  a  passion  as  Kenrick. 

"  Betraying  confidence  is  almost  as  bad  as  breaking  open 
desks,  and  burning" Such  a  taunt,  coming  from  Ken- 
rick, was  base  and  cruel,  and  he  knew  it  to  be  so. 

"  Thank  you  for  the  allusion,"  said  Walter  ;  "  I  deserve 
[t,  I  own,  but  I'm  surprised,  Kenrick,  that  you,  of  all 
others,  should  make  it.  That,  I  admit,  was  an  act  of  sin 
and  strange  folly  for  which  I  must  always  feel  humiliated 


separate™  veky  friends.  209 

and  implore  to  be  forgiven  And  every  generous  person 
has  long  ago  forgiven  me  and  forgotten  it.  But  in  this 
case,  if  you  weren't  in  such  a  silly  rage,  I  could  show  you 
that  I've  done  nothing  wrong.  Only  I  know  you  wouldn't 
listen  now,  and  I  shan't  condescend" 

"  Condescend !  I  like  that,"  said  Kenrick,  interrupting 
him  with  a  scornful  laugh,  which  made  Walter's  blood  tin- 
gle. "  You  condescend  to  me,  forsooth."  Higher  words 
might  have  ensued,  but  at  this  moment  Henderson,  still 
pursued  by  Whalley,  came  running  up,  and  seeing  that 
something  had  gone  wrong,  he  said  to  Kenrick — 

"  Hallo,  Damon  !  what  has  Pythias  been  saying  to  you  V 

Kenrick  vouchsafed  no  answer,  but  turning  his  bach  on 
them,  went  off  abruptly. 

"  He's  very  angry  with  you,  Evson,  said  Whalley,  "  be- 
cause he  thinks  you've  been  telling  Jones  and  that  lot  his 
family  secrets." 

"  I've  done  nothing  whatever  of  the  kind,"  said  Walter, 
indignantly.  "  I  admit  that  I  did  thoughtlessly  mention  it 
to  Power  ;  and  one  other  overheard  me.  It  never  occur 
-ed  to  me  for  a  moment  that  Kenrick  would  mind.  You 
know  I  wouldn't  dream  of  speaking  about  it  ill-naturedly, 
and  if  that  fellow  wasn't  blind  with  rage  I  could  have  ex- 
plained it  to  him  in  five  minutes." 

"  If  you  merely  mentioned  it  to  Power  I'm  sure  Kenrick 
would  not  so  much  mind.     I'll  tell  him  about  it  when  he's 
.ooler,"  said  Whalley. 

"  As  you  like,  Whalley  ;  Kenrick  has  no  business  to 
suspect  me  in  that  shameful  way,  and  to  abuse  me,  and 
treat  me  as  if  I  was  quite  beueath  his  notice,  and  cast  old 
faults  in  my  teeth,"  answered  Walter,  with  deep  vexatiou. 
"  Let  him  find  out  the  truth  for  himself  ne  can,  if  he 
takes  the  trouble." 

Both  the  friends  were  thoroughly  angry  with  each  othei 


210  THE   FIRST   ADVANCE. 

each  of  them  imagined  himself  deeply  wronged  by  the  other, 
and  each  of  them,  in  his  irritation,  used  strong  and  un- 
guarded expressions  which  lost  nothing  by  repetition. 
Thus  the  "  rift  of  difference"  was  cleft  deeper  and  deeper 
between  them  ;  and,  chiefly  through  Kenrick's  pride  and 
precipitancy,  a  disagreement  which  might  at  first  have 
been  easily  adjusted,  became  a  serious,  and  threatened  to 
become  a  permanent  quarrel. 

"  Power,  did  you  repeat  what  I  told  you  about  Kenrick 
to  any  one  ?"  asked  Walter,  next  time  he  met  him. 

"  Repeat  it  ?"  said  Power  ;  "  why,  Walter,  do  you  sup- 
pose I  would  ?     What  do  you  take  me  for  ?" 

"  All  right,  Power  ;  I  knew  that  you  couldn't  do  such 
a  thing  ;  but  Kenrick  declares  I've  spread  it  all  over  the 
school,  and  has  just  been  abusing  me  like  a  pickpocket." 
Walter  told  him  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  and  Power, 
displeased  for  Walter's  sake,  and  sorry  that  two  real 
friends  should  be  separated  by  what  he  could  not  but  re- 
gard as  a  venial  error  on  Walter's  part,  advised  him  to 
write  a  note  to  Kenrick,  and  explain  the  true"  facts  of  the 
case  a^ain. 

"  But  what's  the  use,  Power  ?"  said  Walter  ;  "  he  would 
not  listen  to  my  explanation,  and  said  as  many  hard  things 
of  me  as  he  could."' 

"  Yes,  in  a  passion.  He'll  be  sorry  for  them  directly 
he's  calm  ;  for  you  know  what  a  generous  fellow  he  is 
You  can  forgive  them,  I'm  sure,  Walter,  and  win  the  plea- 
sure of  beimr  the  first  to  make  an  advance." 

Walter,  after  a  little  struggle  with  his  resentment,  wrote 
a  note,  and  gave  it  to  Whalley  to  give  to  Kenrick  next 
time  he  saw  him.     It  ran  as  follows  : 

'  My  dear  Kenrick — I  think  you  are  a  little  hard  upon 
me.     Who  can  have  told  Jones  anything  about  you  and 


UNFORGIVING.  211 

four  homo  secrets  I  don't  know.  He  could  not  have  learnt 
them  through  me.  It's  true  I  did  mention  something  about 
vour  father  to  Power  when  I  was  talking  in  the  most  aft'eo 
tionate  way  about  you.  I'm  very  sorry  for  this,  but  I 
aever  dreamt  it  would  make  you  so  angry.  Power  is  the 
last  person  to  repfa-1  such  a  thing-.  Pray  forgive  me.  and 
believe  me  always  to  be — Your  affectionate  friend, 

"  Walter  Evson." 

Keurick's  first  impulse  on  receiving  this  note  was  to  seek 
Walter  on  the  earliest  occasion,  and  "make  it  up"  with 
him  in  the  sincerest  and  heartiest  way  he  could.  But  sud- 
denly the  sight  of  Jones  and  Mackworth  vividly  reminded 
his  proud  and  sensitive  nature  of  the  scene  that  had  caused 
him  such  acute  pain.  He  did  not  see  how  Jones  could  have 
learnt  about  the  vehicle,  at  any  rate,  without  Walter  hav- 
ing laughed  over  it  to  some  one.  Instead  of  seeking  fur- 
ther explanation,  he  again  gave  reins  to  his  anger  and  sus- 
picion, and  wrote : 

"  I  am  bound  to  believe  your  explanation  as  far  as  it 
goes.  But  I  have  reason  to  know  that  something  more  must 
have  passed  than  what  you  admit  yourself  to  have  said 
I  am  astonished  that  you  should  have  treated  me  so  unwor- 
thily. I  would  not  have  done  so  to  you.  I  will  try  to  for- 
get this  unpleasant  business  ;  but  it  is  only  in  a  sense  that 
I  can  sign  myself  again — Your  affectionate  friend, 

"  H.  Kenrick. 

Walter  had  not  expected  this  cold,  ungracious  reply. 
When  Whalley  gave  him  Keurick's  note  he  tore  it  open 
eagerly,  anticipating  a  frank  renewal  of  their  former  friend- 
ship ;  but  a  red  spot  rose  to  his  cheeks  as  he  saw  the  in- 
sinuation that  he  had  not  told  the  whole  truth,  and  as  ho 


212  A    NOTE   LOST  *, 

tore  up  the  note,  be  indignantly  determined  to  take  no  fur 
ther  step  towards  a  reconciliation. 

Yet  as  he  thought  how  many  pleasant  hours  they  had 
gpent  together,  and  how  firmly,  on  the  whole,  Kenrick 
had  stood  by  him  in  his  troubles,  and  how  loveable  a 
boy  he  really  was,  Walter  could  not  but  grieve  over  this 
difference.  He  found  himself  yearning  to  be  on  the  old 
terms  with  Kenrick.  He  felt  that  at  heart  he  still  loved 
him  well  ;  and  after  a  few  days  he  again  stifled  all  pride, 
and  wrote  : 

"  Dear  Ken — Is  it  possible  that  you  will  not  believe  mv 
word  ?  If  you  still  feel  any  doubt  about  what  I  have  said, 
do  come  and  see  me  in  Power's  study.  I  am  sure  that  I 
would  convince  you  in  five  minutes  that  you  must  be  un- 
der some  mistake  ;  and  if  I  have  done  you  any  wrong,  or 
if  you  think  that  I  have  done  you  any  wrong,  Ken,  I'll 
apologize  sincerely,  without  any  pride  or  reserve.  I  niiss 
your  society  very  much,  and  I  still  am,  and  shall  be, 
whatever  you  may  think  and  whatever  you  may  say  of 
me,  "  Yours,  affectionately, 

"  W.  E." 

As  he  naturally  did  not  wish  any  third  person  to  know 
what  was  passing  between  them,  he  did  not  entrust  his  note 
to  any  one,  but  himself  placed  it  between  the  leaves  of  an 
Herodotus  which  he  knew  that  Kenrick  would  use  at  the 
next  school.  He  had  barely  put  it  there,  when  a  boy  who 
wanted  an  Herodotus  happened  to  come  into  the  class- 
room, and  seeing  Kenrick's  lying  on  the  table,  coolly 
walked  off  with  it,  after  the  manner  of  boys,  regardless  of 
the  inconvenience  to  which  the  owner  might  be  put.  Aa 
this  boy  was  reading  a  different  part  of  Herodotus  from 
that  which  Kenrick  was  reading,  Walter's  note  lay  between 


AND    A    FRIEND    LOST.  213 

the  leaves  where  it  had  been  placed  unnoticed.  When  ne 
book  was  done  with,  the  boy  forgot  it,  and  left  it  in  school, 
where,  after  kicking  about  for  some  days  unowned,  it  was 
consigned,  with  other  stray  volumes,  to  a  miscellaneous  cup- 
board. Kenrick  supposed  that  it  was  lost,  or  that  some 
one  had  "bagged"  it  ;  and,  unknown  to  Walter,  his  note 
never  reached  the  hands  for  which  it  had  been  destined. 
I  q  vain  he  waited  for  a  reply  ;  in  vain  he  looked  for  some 
word  or  sign  to  show  that  Kenrick  had  received  his  letter. 
But  Kenrick  still  met  him  in  perfect  silence,  and  with 
averted  looks  ;  and  Walter,  surprised  at  his  obstinate  un- 
kindness,  thought  that  he  could  do  nothing  more  to  disa- 
buse him  of  his  false  impression,  and  was  the  more  ready  to 
forego  a  friendship  which  by  every  honorable  means  he  had 
endeavored  to  retain. 

Poor  Kenrick  1  he  felt  as  much  as  Walter  did  that  he 
had  lost  one  of  his  truest  and  most  pleasant  friends,  and  he, 
too,  often  yearned  for  the  old  intercourse  between  them. 
Even  his  best  friends,  Power,  Henderson,  and  Whalley,  all 
thought  him  wrong  ;  and  in  consequence  a  coolness  rose 
between  them  and  him.  He  felt  thoroughly  miserable,  and 
did  not  know  where  to  turn  ;  yet  none  the  less  he  ostenta- 
tiously abstained  from  making  the  slightest  overture  to 
Walter  ;  and  whereas  the  two  boys  might  have  enjoyed  to- 
gether many  happy  hours,  they  felt  continual  embarrass 
ment  at  being  obliged  to  meet  each  other  very  frequently 
in  awkward  silence,  and  apparent  unconsciousness  of  each 
other's  presence.  This  silent  annoyance  recurred  continu- 
ally, at  all  hours  of  the  day. 

Twice  did  chance  throw  the  friends  into  situations  in 
which  a  reconciliation  would  have  been  easy.  Once,  when 
die  school  was  assembled  to  hear  the  result  of  some  compo- 
sition prizes,  they  found  themselves  accidentally  seated,  one 
on  each  side  of  Power.    The  mottos  on  the  envelopes  which 


214  by  daubeny's  gkave. 

were  sent  in  with  the  successful  exercises  were  always  read 
out  before  the  envelope  was  opened  ;  and  in  one  of  the 
prizes  for  which  there  had  been  many  competitors,  the  pun- 
ning motto  told  them  at  once  that  Power  had  again 
achieved  a  brilliant  success.  The  Great  Hall  was  always 
a  scene  for  the  triumphs  of  this  happy  boy.  Both  Walter 
and  Keurick  turned  at  the  same  moment  to  congratulate 
him,  Walter  seizing  his  right  hand  and  Keurick  his  left 
Power,  after  thanking  them  for  their  warm  congratula< 
tions,  grasped  both  their  hands,  and  drew  them  towards 
each  other.  Keurick  was  aware  of  what  he  meant,  and 
his  heart  fluttered  as  he  now  hoped  to  regain  a  lost  friend  ; 
but  just  at  that  moment  Walter's  attention  happened  to  be 
attracted  by  Eden,  who,  though  sitting  some  benches  off, 
wished  to  telegraph  his  congratulations  to  Power.  Unfor- 
tunately, therefore,  Walter  turned  his  head  away,  before 
he  knew  that  Kenrick's  hand  was  actually  touching  his. 
He  did  not  perceive  Power's  kind  intention  until  the  oppor- 
tunity was  lost  ;  and  Keurick,  misinterpreting  his  conduct, 
had  flushed  with  sudden  pride,  and  hastily  withdrawn  his 
hand. 

On  the  second  occasion,  Walter  had  gone  up  the  hill  to 
the  churchyard,  by  the  side  of  which  was  a  pleasant  stile, 
overshadowed  by  aged  elms,  on  which  he  often  sat  reading 
or  enjoying  the  breeze  and  the  view.  It  suddenly  occurred 
to  him  that  he  would  look  at  Daubeny's  grave,  to  see  if 
the  stone  had  yet  been  put  up.  He  found  that  it  had  just 
been  raised,  and  he  was  sorrowfully  reading  the  inscription, 
when  a  footstep  roused  him  from  his  mournful  recollections 
A  glance  showed  him  that  Keurick  was  approaching,  evi- 
dently with  the  same  purpose.  He  came  slowly  to  the 
grave  and  read  the  epitaph.  Their  eyes  met  in  a  friendly 
e;aze.  A  sudden  impulse  to  reconciliation  seized  them 
both,  and  they  were  on  the  verge  of  shaking  hands,  when 


STILL    ESTRANGED.  215 

three  boys  came  sauntering  through  the  churchyard  ; — ono 
of  them  was  the  ill-omened  Jones.  The  association  jarred 
on  both  their  minds,  and  turning  away  without  a  wor<? 
they  walked  home  in  different  direction* 


CHAPTEK  THE  TWENTY-FOURTH. 


eden's  troubles. 


THEY  went  home  in  different  directions,  and  mor- 
ally too  their  paths  henceforth  were  widely  diverse. 
From  henceforth,  as  we  shall  have  occasion  to  see 
hereafter,  Walter  was  progressing  from  strength  to  strength, 
adding  to  faith  virtue,  and  to  virtue  temperance,  and  to 
temperance  knowledge,  and  to  knowledge  brotherly  kind- 
ness, and  to  brotherly  kindness  charity — 

"  Springing  from  crystal  step  to  crystal  step 
Of  the  bright  air ;" 

Kenrick  loved  Walter,  and  sighed  for  the  old  intimacy, 
while  he  was  daily  abusing  his  character  and  affectiug  to 
scorn  his  conduct.  There  had  always  been  a  little  worm  at 
the  root  of  his  admiration  of  and  affection  for  Walter.  It 
was  jealousy.  He  did  not  like  to  hear  him  praised  so 
loudly  by  his  friends  and  school-fellows  ;  and  besides  this 
he  was  vexed  that  Walter,  Henderson,  and  Power  were 
more  closely  allied  to  each  other  than  to  him.  He  had 
struggled  successfully  against  these  unworthy  feelings  so 
lono-  as  Walter  was  his  friend,  but  now  that  he  had  allowed 
himself  to  seek  a  quarrel  with  him,  they  grew  up  with  tre- 
mendous luxuriance.  And  he  was  so  thoroughly  in  the 
tvrong,  and  so  obstinate  in  persisting  to  misundersand  and 
misrepresent  his  former  friend,  that  gradually,  by  his  per- 
tinacity and  injustice,  he  alienated  the  regards  of  all  those 
who  had  once  been  his  chosen  companions.     Even  Whal- 

213 


WALTER'S    SUCCESS.  217 

(ey  grew  cool  towards  him.     lie  had  to  look  elsewhere  for 
associates,  and  unhappily  he  looked  in  the  wrong  direction. 
Meanwhile  Walter,  although  he  constantly  grieved  at 
the  loss  of  a  friend,  was  otherwise  very  happy.     The  .oys 
at  St.  Winifred's  were  not  overworked  ;  there  was  enough 
work  to  stimulate,  but  not  to  oppress  them,  and  Walter's 
work  grew  more  promising  every  day.     He  was  fond  of 
praise,   and  Mr.  Percival,  while  he  always  took  care  so 
to  praise  him  as  to  obviate  the  danger  of  conceit,  was  not 
bo  scant  of  his  approbation  as  most  men  are.     His  warm 
and  generous  appreciation  encouraged  and  rewarded  Wal- 
ter's exertions,  so  that  he  was  quite  the  "  star  "  of  his  form 
Many  other  boys  did  well  under  Mr.  Percival.     There  was 
a  bright  and  cheerful  emulation  among  them  all,  and  they 
took  especial  pains  with  their  exercises,  which  Mr.  Percival 
varied  in  every  possible  way,  so  as  to  call  out  the  imagina- 
tion and  the  fancy,  to  exercise  both  the  reason  and  the 
understanding,  and  to  test  the  powers   of  attention  and 
research.     His  method  was  so  successful  that  it  was  often 
a  real  pleasure  to  look  over  the  exercises  of  his  form  ;  and 
he  had  adopted  one  plan  for  keeping  up  the  boys'  interest 
in  them,  which  was  eminently  useful.     All  the  best  exer- 
cises, if  they  attained  to  any  positive  excellence,  were  sent 
to  Dr.  Lane  ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  half-year,  a  numbei, 
printed  opposite  to  the  boy's  name,  showed  how  often  he 
had  thus  been  "  sent  up  for  good."    If  in  one  fortnight  four 
separate  exercises  were  so  sent  up,  the  form  obtained,  by 
this  proof  of  industry,  the  remission  of  an  hour's  work,  and 
as  this  honor  could  never  be  cheaply  won  it  was  highly 
prized.     Now,  two  or  three  times  Walter's  unusually  bril- 
liant exercises  had  been  the  chief  contribution  towards  win- 
ding these  remitted  hours,  and  this   success  caused  him 
double  happiness,  because  it  necessarily  made  him  a  general 
favorite  with  the  form.     Henderson  (who  had  only  got  a 

10 


218  Henderson's  exercises. 

single  remove  at  the  beginning  of  the  term,  but  had  worked 
so  hard  in  his  new  form  that  he  had  succeeded  in  his  purpose 
of  winning  a  remove  during  the  term,  and  so  being  again  in 
the  same  division  with  Walter),  did  his  best  to  earn  the 
same  distinction,  but  he  only  succeeded  when  the  exercise 
happened  to  be  an  English  one,  and  on  a  subject  which 
gave  some  opportunity  for  his  sense  of  the  ludicrous.  He 
generally  contrived  to  introduce  some  purely  fictitious 
'  Eastern  Apologue "  as  he  called  it ;  and  as  he  rarely 
managed  to  keep  the  correct  oriental  coloring,  his  com- 
binations of  Sultans,  Tchokadars,  Odaliques,  and  white 
bears,  were  sometimes  so  inexpressibly  absurd  that  Mr.  Per- 
cival,  to  avoid  fits  of  laughter,  was  obliged  to  look  over 
his  exercises  alone.  Nor  were  his  eccentricities  always  con- 
fined to  his  English  themes  :  his  Latin  verses  were  occa- 
sionally no  less  extraordinary  ;  and  in  one  set,  on  the  sui- 
cide of  Ajax,  the  last  few  lines  consisted  of  fragmentary 
words,  interspersed  here  and  there  with  numerous  stars — 
a  phenomenon  which  he  explained  to  Mr.  Percival,  in  the 
gravest  manner  possible,  by  saying,  that  here  the  voice  of 
Ajax  was  interrupted  by  sobs  ! 

Happy  in  his  work,  Walter  was  no  less  happy  in  his 
play.  The  glorious  mid-day  bathes  on  the  hard,  sparkling, 
yellow  sands,  when  the  sea  was  smooth  as  the  blue  of  hea- 
ven, and  clear  as  transparent  glass — the  long  afternoons 
on  the  green  and  sunny  cricket  field,  the  strolls  over  the 
mountains,  and  lazy  readings  under  a  tree  in  the  fragrant 
fir-groves — all  invigorated  him,  and  gave  to  his  face  the 
health,  and  to  his  heart  the  mirth,  which  told  of  an  inno- 
cent life  and  a  vigorous  frame. 

But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  he  escaped  troubles  of 
his  own,  and  his  first  trouble  arose  out  of  the  kind,  boy- 
ish protectorate  which  he  had  established  over  little  Eden'a 
interests. 


EDEN.  219 

His  rescue  of  Eden  from  the  clute  les  of  a  bad  lot  was 

jne  of  Walter's  proudest  and  gladdest  reminiscences.  In- 
Btead  of  moping  about  miserable  and  lonely,  and  rapidly 
developing  into  a  rank  harvest  the  evil  seeds  which  his- tor 
mentors  had  tried  to  plant  in  his  young  heart,  Eden  was 
now  the  gayest  of  the  gay.  Secure  from  most  annoyances 
by  possessing  the  refuge  of  Power's  study,  and  the  cer- 
tainty of  Walters  help,  he  soon  began  to  assert  his  own 
position  among  all  the  boys  of  his  own  age  and  standing. 
No  longer  crushed  and  intimidated  by  buliying  and  had 
companions,  he  was  lively,  happy,  and  universally  liked, 
but  never  happier  than  when  Walter  and  Power  admitted 
him,  as  they  constantly  did,  into  their  own  society. 

Harpour  and  Jones,  in  their  hatred  against  Walter,  had 
an  especial  reason  to  keep  Eden  as  far  as  they  could  under 
subjection,  in  addition  to  their  general  propensity  to  bully 
and  domineer.  They  did  not  care  to  torment  him  when 
Walter  was  present,  because  with  him,  in  spite  of  their 
hostility,  they  felt  it  wise  to  maintain  au  armed  neutrality. 
But  whenever  Walter  was  absent,  they  felt  themselves  safe. 
None  of  the  other  boys  in  their  dormitory  interfered  except 
Henderson,  and  his  interposition,  though  always  generous, 
was  both  morally  and  physically  weaker  than  Walter's. 
He  would  not,  indeed,  allow  any  positive  cruelty,  but  he 
was  not  thoughtful  or  stable  enough  to  see  the  duty  of 
interfering  to  prevent  other  and  hardly  less  tolerable  per- 
secutions. 

It  so  happened  that  at  a  game  of  cricket  Walter  by 
accident  had  received  a  blow  on  the  knee  from  the  crickei- 
ball  bowled  by  Franklin,  who  was  a  tremendous  hard  and 
swift  bowler.  The  hurt  which  this  had  caused  was  so  se- 
vere that  he  was  ordered  by  Dr.  Keith  to  sleep  on  the 
ground-floor  in  the  cottage  for  a  fortnight,  m  order  to  save 
him  the  exertion  of  running  up  and  down  so  many  stairs 


220  BULLYING. 

The  opportunity  of  this  prolonged  absence  was  maliciously 
seized  by  the  tyrants  of  No.  10  ;  but  Eden  bore  up  fal 
more  manfully  than  he  had  done  in  the  old  days.  He  was 
quite  a  different,  and  a  far  braver  little  fellow,  thanks  to 
Walter,  than  he  had  been  the  term  before  ;  aud,  looking 
forward  to  his  friend's  speedy  return,  he  determined  to  bear 
his  troubles  without  saying  a  word  about  them.  He  was 
far  more  bullied  during  this  period  than  Henderson  knew 
of,  for  some  of  the  threats  and  commands  by  which  he  was 
coerced  were  given  in  Hendersou's  absence,  as  he  was 
allowed  to  sit  up  half  an  hour  later  than  those  in  the  form 
below.  For  instance,  Eden  was  ordered  never  to  look  at  a 
book  or  to  finish  learning  his  lessons  in  the  bedroom  ;  and 
he  was  strictly  forbidden  to  get  up  until  the  second  bell 
rang  in  the  morning.  If  he  disobeyed  these  orders,  he  was 
soused  with  water,  pelted  with  shoes,  and  beaten  with  slip- 
pers, and  on  the  whole  he  found  it  better  to  be  content  to 
lose  place  in  form,  and  to  get  impositions  for  missing  cha- 
pel, than  to  attempt  to  brave  these  hindrances.  "When, 
however,  he  had  been  late  two  mornings  running,  Hender- 
son got  the  secret  out  of  him,  and  at  once  entreated  nar- 
pour  and  Jones  to  abandon  this  cruelty,  throwing  out 
hints  that  if  they  refused,  he  would  take  some  measures  to 
get  it  stopped  by  one  of  the  monitors.  If  Eden  had  been 
plucky  enough  to  embrace  his  natural  right  of  obtaining 
protection  from  one  of  his  own  school-fellows  in  the  sixth, 
he  would  have  been  efficiently  defended.  Appealing  to  a 
monitor  in  order  to  secure  immunity  from  disgraceful  aud 
wholly  intolerable  bullying  is  a  very  different  thing  from 
telling  a  master  ;  and  although  the  worst  boys  tried  to  get 
it  traditionally  regarded  as  an  unmitigated  form  of  sneak* 
ng,  yet  the  public  opinion  of  the  best  part  of  the  school 
would  have  been  found  to  justify  it.  But  the  two  bullies 
knew  that  Eden  would  never  have  the  heart  to  venture  on 


TAKEN    PRISONER.  221 

this  appeal ;  and  although  thoy  desisted  from  this  partis 
ular  practice  at  Henderson's  request,  they  knew  that  ha 
was  too  wavering-  a  character,  and  too  fond  of  popularity, 
to  be  easily  induced  to  make  them  his  open  enemies.  It 
Eden  had  only  told  Walter,  he  knew  that  Walter  would 
have  sheltered  him  from  unkindness  at  all  hazards  ;  but  he 
was  a  thoroughly  grateful  child,  and  did  not  wish  to  get 
Walter  into  any  difficulties  on  his  account.  So,  iu  school- 
boy phrase,  there  was  nothing  left  for  him  but  to  "grin  and 
bear  it ;"  which  he  heroically  did,  earnestly  longing  for 
Walter's  return  to  the  dormitory  as  for  some  golden  age. 
But  his  trials  were  not  over  yet. 

Have  you  ever  been  awaked  from  a  sweet  sleep  by  feel- 
ing an  intolerable  agony  in  your  right  toe,  and  finding  that 
it  is  caused  by  somebody  having  tied  a  string  tight  round 
it  without  waking  you,  and  then  pulling  the  said  string 
with  all  his  force  ?  If  not,  congratulate  yourself  there- 
upon, and  accept  the  assurance  of  one  who  has  undergone 
it,  that  the  pain  caused  by  this  process  is  absolutely  excru- 
ciating. It  was  this  pain  which  made  Eden  start  up  with 
a  scream  one  night,  and  the  cry  rose  in  intensity  as  he  grew 
fully  awake  to  the  sensation. 

"  Hallo  !  what's  the  row,  Eden  V  said  Henderson,  start- 
ing up  in  bed  ;  but  the  child  could  only  continue  his 
screams,  and  Henderson,  springing  out  of  bed,  stumbled 
against  the  string,  and  instantly  (for  the  trick  was  a  fami- 
liar one)  knew  what  was  being  done.  As  quick  as  thought 
he  seized  the  string  with  his  right  hand,  and  by  pnlliug  it 
towards  Eden,  slackened  the  horrible  tension  of  it,  while 
with  his  left  hand  he  rapidly  took  out  a  knife  from  his  coat 
pocket  and  cut  the  cord  in  two. 

Jones  and  Harpour,  tittering  at  the  success  of  their  ma- 
chination, were  standing  with  the  string  in  their  hands  just 
outside  the  door  in  the  passage,  and  the  sudden  jerk  showed 
them  that  the  string  was  severed. 


222  WHITE    FEATHER. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Henderson  to  them,  wilh 
the  most  deliberate  emphasis,  "  I  don't  care  if  you  do  lick 
me  for  telling  you  the  truth,  but  you  two  are  just  a  couple 
of  the  greatest  brutes  in  the  school." 

"  What's  the  matter,  Flip  ?"  asked  Franklin,  from  hia 
bed,  in  a  drowsy  tone. 

"  Matter  !  why  those  two  brutes,"  said  Henderson,  with 
strong  indignation,  "  have  been  taking  poor  little  Eden  pri- 
soner, and  hurting  him  awfully." 

"  What  a  confounded  shame,"  said  Franklin  and  An- 
thony in  one  voice  ;  for  they,  too,  though  they  were  sturdy 
fellows,  had  had  some  experience  of  the  bullies  in  their 
earlier  school  days  ;  and  of  late,  following  Walter's  exam- 
ple, they  had  always  energetically  opposed  this  maltreat- 
ment of  Eden. 

"  Draw  it  mild,  you  three,"  said  Harpour. 

"  But  we  won't  draw  it  mild,"  said  Franklin  ;  "  it's  quite 
true  ;  you  and  Jones  are  brutes  to  bully  that  poor  little 
fellow  so.     He  never  hurt  you." 

"  What  an  uppish  lot  you  nips  are,"  said  Harpour;  "  it's 
all  that  fellow  Evson's  doing.  Hang  me,  if  I  don't  take  it 
out  of  you  ;"  and  he  advanced  with  a  slipper  in  his  hand 
towards  Franklin. 

"  Touch  him  if  you  dare,"  said  Henderson  ;  "  if  you  do, 
Anthony  and  I  will  stick  by  him  ;  and  Cradock,  you'll  see 
fair  play,  won't  you  ?" 

"  Pooh,"  said  Cradock.  "  I'm  asleep.  Fight  it  out  by 
yourselves." 

"  Never  mind  these  little  fools,  Harpour,"  said  Jones  ; 
"  they're  beneath  your  notice.     Besides,  it's  time  to  turn 
off  to  sleep."     For  Jones  had  earned  his  sobriquet  by  al 
ways   showing   a   particularly  large   white   feather  when 
there  was  any  chance  of  a  fray. 

"  Phew,  Jones  ;  none  of  us  would  give  much  fcr  you,'1 
said  Henderson,  contemptuously.      "  Little  fools,  indeed  < 


BAFFLED.  223 

5Tou  know  very  well  that  you  daren't  lay  a  linger  on  the 
east  of  us,  whether  we're  beneath  your  notice  or  no.  An 
ostrich  is  a  big  bird,  but  its  white  feathers  are  chiefly  of 
use  in  helping  it  to  run  away."  He  went  to  Eden's  bed- 
side, for  the  child  was  still  sobbing  with  pain,  and  waa 
evidently  in  a  great  state  of  nervous  agitation. 

"  Never  mind,  Eden,"  he  said,  in  a  kind  and  soothing 
voice  ;  "  think  no  more  of  it  ;  we  won't  let  them  take  you 
prisoner  agaiu.  And  as  he  spoke  he  took  his  place  by 
Eden's  side,  and  looked  with  angry  defiance  at  the  two 
bullies. 

"  Those  fellows  hurt  me  so,"  said  Eden,  in  an  apologetic 
tone,  bravely  trying  to  check  his  tears.  "  Oh,  I  wish  Evson 
would  come  back." 

"  He  is  coming  back  in  a  night  or  two  ;  his  knee  Is 
nearly  well.  I  haven't  helped  you  enough,  poor  little  fel- 
low. I'm  so  sorry.  I  say,  you  brutes,"  he  continued,  rais- 
ing his  voioe,  "  next  time  you  bully  Eden,  I'll  tell  Soincrs 
as  sure  as  fate." 

"  Tell  away  then,"  jeered  Harpour  ;  "  better  go  and 
tell  him  before  your  shoes  wear  out." 

"  Ah,  you'll  change  your  tone,  Master  Harpour,  when 
you've  been  well  whopped,"  answered  Henderson. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Somers  or  any  one  else  whop  me. 
said  Harpour  ;  "  by  Jove  1  Lane  himself  shouldn't  do  it." 

"  Ob,  indeed  I" 

"  I'll  '  oh,  indeed '  you  1"  said  Harpour,  getting  out  of 
bed  ;  but  here  Cradock  interfered,  seized  Harpour  with  his 
brawny  arm,  and  said — 

"  There,  that's  badgering  enough  for  one  night.  Do  let 
a  fellow  go  to  sleep." 

Harpour  got  into  bed  again,  and  Henderson  once  more 
reassuring  Eden  that  he  should  not  be  again  molested,  fol- 
lowed his  example.     But,  half  with  fright,  and  half  with 


224  OPEN    WAK. 

pain,  the  poor  boy  lay  awake  most  of  the  night,  and  wheo 
he  did  fall  asleep  he  constantly  started  up  again  with  trou« 
bled  dreams. 

Next  morning,  the  two  parties  in  the  dormitory  would 
hardly  speak  to  each  other.  They  rose  at  daggers  drawn, 
and  in  the  highest  dudgeon.  Henderson  was  glad  An- 
thony and  Franklin  had  openly  espoused  the  right  side,  and 
was  pleased  at  anything  which  drew  them  out  of  the  perni- 
cious influence  of  the  other  two.  This  wasn't  by  any  means 
a  pleasant  state  of  things  for  Jones  and  Harpour,  and  it 
made  them  hate  Eden,  the  innocent  cause  of  it,  more  than 
ever.  Moreover,  Harpour,  who  was  not  accustomed  to  be 
openly  bearded,  did  not  choose  to  let  the  reins  of  despotism 
slip  so  easily  out  of  his  hands,  and  determined  to  avenge 
himself  yet,  and  tc  show  that  neither  entreaties  nor 
threats  should  prevent  him  from  being  as  great  a  bully  as 
he  chose. 

"  Understand  you,  Henderson,"  he  said,  while  they  were 
dressing,  "  that  I  shall  do  exactly  what  I  like  to  that  little 
muff  there." 

Eden  reddened  and  said  nothing  ;  but  Henderson,  look- 
ing up  from  his  wash-hand  basin,  replied  :  "  And  understand 
you,  Harpour,  that  if  you  bully  him  any  more,  I'll  tell  the 
head  of  the  school." 

Harpour  made  a  spring  at  Henderson  to  thrash  him  for 
these  words,  but  again  the  burly  Cradock  interposed,  say- 
ing, good-humoredly,  as  he  put  himself  in  Harpour's  way 
''  There,  stop  squabbling  for  goodness'  sake,  you  two,  aud 
let's  have  a  little  peace.     Flip,  y§u  shut  up  " 


CHAPTER   THE  TWENTY-FIFTH. 

TO    THE    RESCUE. 

EDEN  felt  an  immeasurable  delight  when  Walter  wa« 
allowed  to  come  back  to  the  dormitory,  and  now  he 
thought  himself  happy  in  a  perfect  security  from  fur« 
ther  torment. 

But  the  two  tyrants  had  other  views.  Harpour,  at 
ouce  passionate  and  dogged,  was  not  likely  to  forget  that 
he  had  been  thwarted  and  defied  ;  and  if  he  had  been  so 
inclined,  Jones  would  not  have  allowed  him  to  do  so,  but 
kept  egging  him  on  to  show  his  contempt  for  the  younger 
and  weaker  boys  who  had  tried  to  check  his  bullying  pro- 
pensities. On  the  last  occasion  when  he  had  ordered  Eden 
to  go  to  Dan's,  Eden  had  taken  Walter's  advice,  and 
firmly  refused  to  go.  Harpour  did  not  think  it  safe  to 
compel  him,  but  he  threw  out  some  significant  threats 
which  filled  the  little  boy  with  vague  alarm  and  weighed 
heavily  on  his  spirits.  He  did  not  tell  any  one  of  these 
threats,  hoping  that  they  would  end  in  nothing,  and,  in 
case  of  any  emergency,  trusting  implicitly  on  Walter  for  a 
generous  and  efficient  protection. 

But  the  threats  did  not  end  in  nothing. 
One  night,  after  the  others  had  fallen  asleep,  Eden,  feel, 
ing  quite  free  from  all  anxiety,  was  sleeping  more  soundly 
and  sweetly  than  he  had  done  for  a  fortnight,  when  a  blaze 
of  light,  flashing  suddenly  upon  his  eyes,  made  him  start 
jp  in  his  bed.  Harpour  and  Jones  were  taking  this  op- 
portunity to  fulfil  their  threats  of  frightening  him.  At  the 
foot  of  his  bed  stood  a  figure  in  white,  with  a  hideous,  de* 

10* 


^26 


l-JRIGHTEXLNG. 


formed  licad,  blotclied  with  scarlet ;  bei.ding  over  hhn  was 
another  white  figure,  with  an  enormous  black  face,  holding 
over  its  head  a  shining  hand. 

In  an  instant  the  boy  fell  back,  pale  as  death,  uttering  a 
siiriek  so  shrill  and  terrible,  so  full  of  wildness  and  horror, 
that  every  other  boy  in  the  dormitory  sprang  up,  alarmed 
and  wide  awake. 

Walter  and  Henderson  leaped  out  of  bed  immediately ; 
and  to  Walter,  who  was  unprepared,  the  start  of  surprise 
at  what  he  saw  was  so  sudden,  that  for  a  moment  he  stood 
absolutely  paralyzed  and  bewildered,  because  the  shock  on 
the  nerves  had  preceded  the  recognition,  though  by  an  in- 
finitesimally  short  time.  But  Henderson,  who  knew  how 
Jones  and  Harpour  had  been  going  on,  and  what  their 
threats  had  been,  instantly,  and  before  the  abrupt  and 
unusual  spectacle  had  power  to  unnerve  him,  saw  the  true 
state  of  the  case,  and,  springing  out  upon  the  figure 
which  stood  at  the  end  of  Eden's  bed,  tore  the  mask  away, 
stripped  off  the  sheet,  and  displayed  Jones'  face  before  he 
had  time  to  hide  it,  administering,  as  he  did  so,  a  hearty 
blow  on  Jones'  chest,  which  made  that  hero  stagger  several 
paces  back. 

Although  Walter  saw  almost  at  once  the  trick  that  was 
being  played  with  masks,  sheets,  and  phosphorous,  yet  the 
nudden  shock  upon  his  nerves  not  being  absolutely  co-instan- 
taneous with  the  discovery,  produced  on  him  the  effect  of 
utter  dizziness  and  horror.  Henderson's  prompt  and 
vigorous  onslaught  aroused  him  to  a  sense  of  the  position, 
and  with  a  fierce  expression  of  disgust  and  anger,  he 
bounded  upon  Harpour,  who,  being  thus  suddenly  at- 
tacked, dropped  upon  the  floor  the  dark  lantern  which  he 
held,  and  hastily  retreated,  flinging  the  sheet  over  Walter's 
b  sad. 

Walter  had  barely  disentangled  himself  from  the  fold? 


IN    A    SWOON.  22" 

»f  the  sheet,  when  an  exclamation  from  Henderson  at- 
tracted the  notice  of  all  the  boys  in  the  room,  and  brought, 
them  flocking  round  Eden's  bed.  Henderson  had  picked 
up  the  dark  lantern,  and  was  kneeling  with  it  over  the 
unconscious  boy,  whose  face  was  so  ashy  white,  and  who, 
after  several  sharp  screams,  had  sunk  into  so  deep  a 
swoon,  that  Henderson,  unused  to  such  sights,  naturally 
exclaimed — 

"  Good  God  !  you've  killed  him." 

"  Killed  him  ?"  repeated  the  others,  standing  aghast. 

"  Pooh  1  he's  only  fainted,  you  little  fools,"  said  Jones, 
who  hurried  up  to  look  in  Eden's  face.  "  Here,  we'll  soon 
bring  him  to  ;  Harpour,  just  get  us  some  water." 

"  You  shan't  touch  him,  you  shan't  come  near  him,"  said 
Walter,  furiously  ;  "stand  back.  Henderson  and  I  will 
attend  to  him  ;  and,  depend  upon  it,  you  shall  give  account 
for  this  soou.  What  1  you  will  come  ?"  he  continued, 
shaking  Jones's  arm  violently,  and  then  flinging  him  back 
as  easily  as  though  he  had  been  a  child  ;  "  if  either  you  or 
Harpour  come  near  the  bed,  I'll  fetch  Robertson  instantly. 
Eden  would  go  otf  again  in  a  swoon,  if  he  saw  such  brutes 
as  you  when  he  recovered." 

In  such  a  mood  Walter  was  not  to  be  resisted.  The 
two  plotters,  picking  up  their  masks,  retired  somewhat 
crest-fallen,  and  sat  down  on  their  beds,  while  the  rest,  with 
the  utmost  tenderness,  adopted  every  means  they  knew  to 
recall  Eden's  fluttered  and  agitated  senses. 

But  his  swoon  was  deeper  than  they  could  manage,  and 
growing  too  violently  alarmed  to  trust  themselves  any 
longer,  Henderson  and  Walter  proposed  to  carry  him  to 
the  sick-room,  and  put  him  at  once  under  the  care  of  Dr. 
Keith.  It  was  in  vain  that  Jones  and  Harpour  entreated, 
threatened,  implored  them  to  delay  a  little  longer,  lest  by 
taking  Eden  to  the  sick-room,  their  doings  should  be  dis- 


228  ALARMING. 

covered.  Wholly  disregarding  all  they  said,  the  two  boys 
uplifted  their  still  fainting  friend,  and  when  Harpour  at- 
tempted to  interfere  between  them  and  the  door,  Cradock 
and  Franklin,  now  thoroughly  sickened  by  their  proceedings, 
pulled  him  aside  and  let  them  pass. 

Dr.  Keith  instantly  administered  to  Eden  a  restorative, 
and  after  receiving  from  Walter  a  hurried  explanation  of 
the  circumstances,  gently  told  the  boys  that  they  would  be 
only  in  the  way  there,  that  Eden  was  evidently  in  a  criti- 
cal position,  and  that  they  had  better  return  at  once  to 
their  dormitories. 

Walter  and  Henderson,  when  they  returned,  were  as- 
sailed by  the  others  with  eager  inquiries,  to  which  they 
could  only  give  gloomy  and  uncertain  answers.  They 
would  not  vouchsafe  to  take  the  slightest  notice  of  Jones 
or  Harpour,  but  met  all  their  remarks  with  resolute  silence. 
But  before  he  went  to  sleep,  Walter  said,  "  I  may  as  well 
let  you  fellows  know  that  I  intend  to  report  you  to  Somers 
to-morrow." 

"  Then  you'll  be  a sneak,"  observed  Harpour. 

"  It  is  not  sneaking  to  prevent  brutal  bullying  like 
yours,  by  giving  others  the  chance  of  stopping  it,  and  pre- 
senting little  chaps  like  poor  Eden,  whom  you've  nearly 
frightened  to  death,  from  being  so  shamefully  treated. 
Anyhow,  sneaking  or  not,  I'll  do  it." 

"  If  you  do  tell  Somers,  look  out  for  yourself — that's 
all." 

"  I'm  not  afraid,"  was  the  brief  retort. 

Harpour  knew  that  he  meant  what  he  said,  and,  being 
now  desperate,  he  got  up  half  an  hour  earlier  next  morn 
aig  to  try  and  extort  from  him,  by  main  force,  a  promise 
to  hold  his  tongue  about  the  affair  of  the  night  before.  If 
he  had  at  all  understood  Walter's  character,  he  might  have 
sarod  himself  this  very  s  iperfluous  trouble. 


FAIR    PLAY.  22!i 

Walter  was  awoke  by  a  shake  from  Harpou  who,  with 
Jones,  was  standing  by  his  bed.  He  saw  what  was  com- 
ing, for  Harpour,  who  had  a  pair  of  braces  tightly  knotted 
in  his  hand,  briefly  opened  the  proceedings  by  saying, 
"  Are  you  going  to  sneak  about  me,  or  not  ?  " 

"To  sneak — no;  to  tell  the  head  of  the  school — yes." 

"Then,  by  Jove,  you  shall  have  something  worth  tell- 
ing ;  I'll  take  my  revenge  out  of  you  before-hand.  I 
shall  be  sent  away — think  of  that." 

"  So  much  the  better." 

"  Oh,  that's  your  tune  ?  Take  that."  The  buckle  of 
the  brace  descended  sharply  on  Walter's  back,  drawing 
blood  ;  the  next  instant  he  had  wrested  it  out  of  Ilarpour'a 
hand,  and  returned  the  blow. 

The  scuffle  had  awoke  the  rest.  Walter  jumped  out  of 
bed,  and  was  hurrying  on  his  trousers  and  slippers,  when 
Harpour  knocked  him  dowu. 

"  Fair  play,  Harpour,"  said  Henderson  and  Franklin, 
angrily,  seizing  Harpour's  arms  ;  "  you're  surely  not  going 
to  fight  him,  Walter." 

"Yes;  see  fair  play,  you  fellows  ;  Cradock,  you  will, 
won't  you  !  Fair  play  is  all  I  want.  Flip,  you  see  that 
Jones  tries  no  mean  dodge.  Now,  Harpour,  are  you  ready  ? 
Then  take  that." 

Walter  hit  him  a  steady  blow  in  the  face,  and  the  fight 
between  these  unequally-matched  combatants — a  boy  not 
fifteen  agaiust  a  much  stronger  boy  of  seventeen — began. 
The  result  could  not  be  dubious.  Walter  fought  with  in- 
domitable pluck  ;  it  was  splendid  to  see  the  sturdinesa 
with  which  he  bore  up  under  the  blows  of  Harpour'a 
Btrong  fist,  which  he  could  only  return  at  intervals.  At 
iast  he  dealt  Walter  a  heavy  blow  full  on  the  forehead  ; 
the  boy  reeled,  caught  hold  of  the  washhand-stand  to 
etay  his  fall,  and  dragged  it  after  him  on  the  floor  witb 


230  FOUND   OUT. 

a  thundering  crash,  dashing  the  jug  and  basin  all  to 
shivers. 

The  smash  brought  in  Mr.  Robertson,  whose  rooms  were 
nearest  to  No.  10.  He  opened  his  eyes  in  amazement  as 
he  came  in.  On  one  of  the  beds  lay  the  two  masks  and 
dark  lantern  which  had  been  used  to  frighten  Eden  ;  on 
the  floor,  supported  by  Franklin  and  Henderson,  sat  poor 
Walter,  his  nose  streaming  with  blood,  and  his  face  horri- 
bly bruised  and  disfigured  ;  Harpour  sheepishly  surveyed 
his  handiwork  ;  and  Jones,  on  the  first  alarm,  had  rushed 
back  to  bed,  covered  himself  with  blankets,  and  lay  to  all 
appearance  fast  asleep. 

"  Evson  !  what's  all  this  ?"  asked  the  master  in  aston- 
ishment. 

Walter,  sick  and  giddy,  was  in  no  condition  to  answer ; 
but  the  position  of  affairs  was  tolerably  obvious. 

"  Is  this  your  doing  ?"  asked  Mr.  Robertson  of  Harpour, 
very  sternly,  pointing  to  Walter. 

"  He  hit  me  first." 

''  Liar,"  said  Henderson,  glaring  up  at  him. 

"  Hush,  sir  ;  no  such  language  in  my  presence,"  said  Mr. 
Robertson.  "  Cradock,  do  you  mean  to  say  that  a  big 
fellow  like  you  could  stand  by,  and  see  Harpour  thus  cru- 
elly misuse  a  boy  not  nearly  his  size  V 

"It  was  a  fight,  sir." 

"  Fight !"  said  Mr.  Robertson  ;  "  look  at  those  two  boys, 
and  don't  talk  nonsense  to  me." 

"  I  oughtn't  to  have  let  them  fight,  I  know,"  said  Cra. 
dock  ;  "  and  I  wish,  sir,  you'd  put  Harpour  and  Jones  intc 
another  room,  they're  always  bullying  Eden,  and  it  was  for 
him  that  Evson  fought." 

"  Harpour,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  '*  you  are  absolutely 
despicable.  I  shall  move  you  to  another  dormitory,  where 
<ome  monitor  can  restrain  your  brutality  ;  and,  meanwhile. 


DEFEATED.  231 

[  confine  you  to  gates  for  a  month,  and  you  will  bring  me 
tip  one  hundred  lines  every  day  till  further  notice." 

He  was  leaving  the  room,  but  catching  sight  of  Walter, 
he  returned,  and  said,  kindly,  "  Evson,  my  poor  boy,  I'm 
afraid  you're  sadly  hurt ;  I'm  truly  sorry  for  you  ;  yoa 
seem  to  have  been  behaving  in  a  very  noble  way,  and  I 
honor  you.  Henderson,  I  think  you'd  better  go  with  him  to 
Dr.  Keith,"  he  continued  ;  for  Walter,  though  he  heard  what 
was  said,  was  too  much  hurt  and  shaken  to  speak  a  word. 

"  Come,  Walter,"  said  Henderson,  gently  helping  him  to 
rise  ;  "  I  hope  you're  not  very  much  hurt,  old  fellow.  That 
brute  Harpour  won't  trouble  you  again,  anyhow  ;  nor  his 
parasite  Jones.  Lean  on  my  arm.  Franklin,  you  come 
and  give  Walter  your  arm,  too." 

They  helped  him  to  the  sick-room,  for  he  could  barely 
trail  his  legs  after  him.  Dr.  Keith  laid  him  down  quietly 
on  a  sofa,  put  some  arnica  to  the  bruses  on  his  face,  and 
told  him  to  lie  still  and  go  quietly  to  sleep.  "  He  is  not 
very  much  hurt,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  the  inquiries  of  the 
boys  ;  "  but  the  fall  he  has  had  is  quite  sufficiently  serious 
in  its  consequences  to  render  absolute  rest  necessary  to  him 
for  some  days.     You  may  come  and  see  him  sometimes." 

"  And  now,  you  fellow,  Harpour,"  said  Henderson,  reen- 
tering the  dormitory,  "  Til  tell  Somers.  Do  you  hear  ? 
and  I  hope  he'll  thrash  you  till  you  can't  stand." 

"  He  daren't ;  Robertson's  punished  me  already." 

"  He  dare,  and  will  ;  you  won't  get  off  so  lightly  as  all 
that.' 

"  You're  a  set  of  sneaks  ;  and  I'll  be  even  with  you 
yet,"  growled  Harpour,  too  much  cowed  to  resent  Hender- 
son's defiance. 

Henderson  laughed  scornfully  ;  and  Cradock  said,  "And 
Yll  tell  the  whole  school  what  bullies  you've  bee),  Harpouj 
ind  Jones  " 


232  A    GOOD    RIDDANCE. 

"  And  I,"  said  Franklin;  "  I  don't  envy  you  two." 

"  The  school  doesn't  consist  altogether  of  such  softs  as 
your  lot,  luckily,"  answered  Harpour. 

"  Softs  or  not,  we've  put  a  spoke  in  your  wheel  for  the 
present,"  answered  Franklin  ;  "  I  congratulate  you  on  the 
rich  black  eye  which  one  of  the  softs,  half  your  size,  has 
given  you." 

"  They're  not  worth  snarling  with,  Franklin,"  said  Hen- 
Person  ;  "  we  shall  be  rid  of  hira  and  Jones  from  No.  Hi 
henceforth  ;  that's  one  blesning." 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-SIXTH. 

A    TURBULENT    SCHOOL    MEETING. 

"VT'EXT  morning,  after  second  school,  Power  went  to  se€ 

\\    how  Eden  and  Walter  were  getting  on.     He  opened 

-A-*    the  door  softly,  and  they  did  not  observe  his  entrance. 

Eden,  very  pale,  and  with  an  expression  of  pain  and  ter- 
ror still  reflected  in  his  face,  lay  in  a  broken  and  restless 
Bleep.  Walter  was  sitting  as  still  as  death  by  the  head  of 
the  bed.  A  book  lay  on  his  knees,  bat  he  had  not  been 
reading;.  He  was  in  a  "  brown  study,"  and  the  dreamy 
far-off  look  with  which  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  vacancy 
showed  how  his  thoughts  had  wandered.  It  was  the  same 
look  which  attracted  Power's  attention  when  he  first  saw 
Walter  in  chapel,  and  which  had  shown  him  that  he  was 
no  common  boy.  It  often  made  him  watch  Walter,  and 
wonder  what  could  be  occupying  his  thoughts. 

It  was  looking  at  poor  little  Eden  that  had  suggested  to 
Walter's  mind  the  train  of  thought  into  which  he  had 
fallen.  As  he  saw  the  child  tossing  uneasily  about,  waking 
every  now  and  then  to  half  consciousness  with  a  violent 
start,  occasionally  delirious,  and  to  all  appearance  seriously 
ill — as  he  thought  over  Dr.  Keith's  remark,  that  even 
when  he  was  quite  well  again  his  nervous  system  would 
be  probably  found  to  have  received  a  shock  of  which  the 
effects  would  never  be  obliterated  during  life,  he  could  not 
help  fretting  very  bitterly  over  the  injury  and  suffering  oi 
his  friend.  And  his  own  spirits  were  greatly  shaken.  It 
was  of  little  matter  that  every  time  he  raised  his  hand  to 
cool  his  forehead,  or  ease  the  throbbing  of  his  head,  he 


234  IN    A    BROWN    STUDY. 

felt  how  much  he  was  bruised,  cut,  and  swollen,  or  that 
the  looking  glass  showed  him  a  face  so  hideously  disfig- 
ured; he  knew  that  this  would  grow  right  in  a  day  or 
two,  and  ho  cared  nothing  for  it.  But  when  Harpour's 
blow  knocked  him  down,  he  had  dashed  his  head  with 
some  violence  on  the  floor,  and  this  had  hurt  him  so  much 
aiid  made  him  feel  so  ill,  that  Dr.  Keith  was  not  without 
secret  fears  about  the  possibility  of  a  concussion  of  the 
brain.  Yet  all  the  sorrow  which  Walter  now  felt  was  for 
Eden,  and  he  was  not  thinking  of  himself. 

The  little  boy,  whose  fine  qualities  so  few  besides  himself 
had  discovered,  was  lying  before  him  in  pain  and  nervous 
prostration,  solely  because  malignant  unkindness  seemed  to 
give  pleasure  to  two  bad,  brutal  fellows.  Walter  had 
himself  rescued  Eden  by  his  consistent  kindness  from  being 
corrupted,  tormented — yet  apparently  to  little  purpose. 
That  the  poor  boy's  powers  would  be  decidedly  injured  by 
this  last  prank  was  certain.  Dr.  Keith  had  dropped  mys- 
terious hints,  and  Walter  had  himself  heard  how  wild  and 
incoherent  were  Eden's  murmurs. 

Noble  thoughts  and  high  resolves  were  passing  through 
the  boy's  mind  when  Power's  quiet  footstep  entered  the 
room. 

Power  stopped  for  a  minute  to  look  at  the  somewhat 
saddening  picture  in  the  darkened  room  ; — Walter,  still  aa 
death,  deep  in  thought,  his  chin  leaning  on  his  hand,  and 
his  face  presenting  an  uncouth  mixture  of  shapes  and  colors 
as  he  sate  by  Eden's  bed-side  ;  and  Eden  turning  and 
moaning  in  an  unrefreshing  sleep. 

Walter  started  from  his  reverie  and  smiled,  as  Power 
noiselessly  approached. 

"  My  poor  Walter,  how  marked  you  are  J" 

"  Oh,  never  mind,  it's  nothing.  I  had  a  good  cause, 
ftiid  it's  done  good  " 


TUE    SCHOOL    NEWS.  235 

"  Poor  fellow  1     But  how's  Arty  ?     He  looks  wretch 
ally  ill." 

"  He's  in  a  sad  way  I'm  afraid,  Power,"  said  Walter, 
Blinking  his  head. 

"  I  hope  he'll  be  all  right  soon." 

"  Yes,  I  hope  so  ;  but  we  shall  have  to  take  great  care 
of  him  " 

"  Poor  child,  poor  child  1"  said  Power,  bending  over  him 
compassionately. 

"  Has  Flip  told  Somers  of  Harponr  ?"  asked  Walter. 

"  I   don't  know  whether  you  are  quite  up  to  hearing 
school  news  yet  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  tell  me  all  about  it,"  said  Walter,  eagerly. 

"  Well,  Pve  no  good  news  to  tell.     By-the-by,  Percival 
sent  all  sorts  of  kind  messages,  and  will  come  and  see  you." 

"  Thanks  ; — but  about  Harpour  ?" 

"  Well,  Flip  meant  to  tell  Somers,  but  the  whole  thing 
spread  over  the  school  at  once,  before  morning  chapel  was 
well  over  ;  so,  Dimock  beiug  head  of  Robertson's  house, 
thought  it  was  his  place  to  take  it  up.  He  sent  for  Harpour 
in  the  class-room,  and  told  him  he  meant  to  cane  him  for  his 
abominable,  ruffianly  conduct  ;  but  before  he'd  begun,  Har- 
pour seized  hold  of  the  cane,  and  wouldn't  let  it  go.  Luck 
ilv  Dimock  didn't  fly  into  a  rage,  nor  did  he  let  himself 
down  by  a  fight  which  Harpour  wanted  to  bring  on.  He 
simply  let  go  of  the  cane  quite  coolly,  and  said,  "  Very 
well,  Harpour,  it  would  have  been  a  good  deal  the  best  for 
you  to  have  taken  quietly  the  caning  you  so  thoroughly 
deserve  ;  as  you  don't  choose  to  do  that,  I  shall  put  the 
matter  in  Somers'  hands.  I'm  glad  to  be  rid  of  the  respon- 
sibility." 

"  Did  it  end  there  ?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it ;  the  school  are  in  a  ferment.     You 
know  the  present  monitors,  and  particularly  Somers,  aren't 


236  A    NEW    CHAMPION. 

popular  ;  now  Harpour  is  popular,  although  he's  such  a 
brute,  because  he's  a  great  swell  at  cricket  and  the  go-mes, 
I'm  afraid  we  shall  have  a  regular  monitorial  row,  The 
monitors  have  convened  ■  a  meeting  this  morning  to  decide 
about  Harpour  ;  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  the  school  got  up  a  counter-meeting." 

"  Don't  any  of  the  masters  know  about  Eden  1" 

"  Not  officially,  though  I  should  think  some  rumors  must 
have  got  to  them." 

"  But  surely  it's  very  odd  that  the  school  should  side 
with  Jones  and  Harpour,  after  the  shameful  mischief  they've 
done  ?" 

"  Odd,  a  priori;  but  lots  of  things  always  combine  tc 
make  up  a  school  opinion,  you  know  ;  the  fellows  just 
catch  up  what  they  hear  first.  But  who  do  you  think  is 
foremost  champion  on  the  school  side — stirring  them  up  to 
resist,  abusing  you,  abusing  Flip,  abusing  the  monitors,  and 
making  light  of  Harpour's  doings  ?" 

Walter  asked  "  Who  ?"  but  he  kuew  beforehand  that 
Power's  answer  would  be — 

"  Kenrick  !" 

After  this  he  said  nothing,  but  put  his  hand  wearily  to 
his  head,  which,  in  his  weak  state,  was  aching  violently 
with  the  excitement  of  the  news  which  Power  had  told 
him. 

"  Ah,  I  see,  Walter,  you're  not  quite  well  enough  yet  to 
be  bothered.     I'll  leave  you  quiet.     Good-bye." 

"  Good-bye.  Do  come  again  soon,  and  tell  me  how 
things  go  on." 

Strolling  out  from  the  sad  sick-room  into  the  court, 
Power  was  attracted  into  the  great  school-room  by  the 
sound  of  angry  voices.  Entering,  he  found  half  the  school, 
and  all  the  lower  forms,  collected  round  the  large  desk  at 
which   the  head-master  usually  sat.     A  great  many  wava 


kenrkk's  views.  237 

talking  at  once,  and  every  tongue  was  engaged  in  dis- 
cussing the  propriety,  in  this  instance,  of  any  monitorial 
interference. 

"  Order,  order,"  shouted  one  or  two  of  the  fifth-form 
fellows  present ;  "  let's  have  the  thing  managed  properly. 
Who'll  take  the  chair  ?" 

There  was  a  general  call  for  Kenrick,  and  as  he  was  one 
of  the  highest  fellows  in  the  room,  he  got  into  the  chair, 
and  amid  a  general  silence  delivered  his  views  of  the  pre- 
sent aft  air. 

"  You  all  know,"  he  said,  "  that  Dimock  meant  to  cane 
Harpour  because  he  played  off  a  joke  against  one  of  the  fel- 
lows last  night.  Harpour  refused  to  take  the  caning,  and 
the  monitors  are  holding  a  meeting  this  morning  to  decide 
what  to  do  about  Harpour.  Now  /maintain  that  they've 
no  right  to  do  anything  ;  and  it's  very  important  that  we 
shouldn't  let  them  have  just  their  own  way.  The  thing 
was  merely  a  joke.  Who  thinks  anything  of  just  putting 
on  a  mask  in  fuu,  to  startle  another  fellow  ?  one  constantly 
hears  of  its  being  done  merely  to  raise  a  laugh,  and  we 
must  all  have  often  seen  pictures  of  it.  Of  course,  in  this 
case,  every  one  is  extremely  sorry  for  the  consequences,  but 
it  was  impossible  to  foresee  them,  and  nobody  has  any  right 
to  judge  of  the  act  because  it  has  turned  out  so  unluckily. 
I  vote  that  we  put  the  question — '  Have  the  monitors  any 
risrht  to  interfere  V  " 

Loud  applause  greeted  the  end  of  Kenrick's  speech,  ard 

the  little  bit  at  the  end  about  separating  an  act  from  its 

consequences    told   wonderfully   among   the   boys.      They 

raised  an   almost  unanimous  cry   of  "  Well  done,  Ken," 

'  Quite  right,"  "  Harpour  shan't  be  caned." 

Henderson  had  been  watching  Kenrick  with  an  expres- 
sion of  intense  anger  and  disdain.  At  the  end  of  his  re- 
marks, he  sprang,  rather  than  rose  up,  and  immediately 


238  CONFRONTED    BY    HENDERSON. 

began  to  pour  out  an  impetuous  answer.  His  first  words, 
before  the  fellows  had  observed  that  lie  meant  to  speak, 
were  drowned  in  the  general  uproar  ;  and  when  they  had 
all  caught  sight  of  him,  an  expression  of  decided  disappro- 
bation ran  round  the  throng  of  listeners.  It  did  not  makt 
him  swerve  in  the  slightest  degree.  Looking  round  scorn- 
fully  and  steadily,  he  said — 

"  I  know  why  some  of  you  hiss.  You  think  I  told 
Dimock  of  Harpour.  As  it  happens,  I  didn't ;  but  I'm 
neither  afraid  nor  ashamed  to  tell  you  all,  as  I  told  Har- 
pour to  his  face,  that  I  had  fully  intended  to  do  it — or 
rather,  that  I  meant  to  tell,  not  Dimock,  but  Soraers.  Will 
you  let  me  speak  ?"  he  asked,  angrily,  as  his  last  sentence 
was  interrupted  by  a  burst  of  groans,  commenced  by  a  few 
of  those  whose  interests  were  most  at  stake,  and  taken  up 
by  the  mass  of  ignorant,  boys. 

Power  plucked  Henderson  by  the  sleeve,  and  whispered, 
"  Hush,  Flip  ;  go  on,  but  keep  your  temper." 

"I've  as  much  right  to  speak— if  this  is  meant  for  a 
school  meeting — as  Kenrick  or  any  one  else  ;  and  what  I 
have  to  say  is  this  : — Kenrick  has  been  merely  throwing 
dust  in  your  eyes,  misleading  you  -altogether  about  the 
true  state  of  the  case.  Its  all  very  fine,  and  very  easy  for 
him  to  talk  so  lightly  of  its  being  '  a  joke,'  and  '  a  bit  of 
fun,'  and  so  on  ;  but  I  should  like  to  ask  him  whether  he 
believes  that  ?  and  whether  he's  not  just  hunting  for  popu- 
larity, and  mixing  up  with  it  a  few  private  spites  ?  and 
whether  he's  not  thoroughly  ashamed  of  himself  at  this 
moment  ?  There  !  you  may  see  that  he  is,"  continued 
Henderson,  pointing  at  him;  "see  how  he  is  blushing 
Bcarlet,  and  looking  the  very  picture  of  degradation." 

Here  Kenrick  started  up,  and  most  irascibly  informed 
Bcnderson  that  he  wasn't  going  to  sit  there  and  be  slanged 
by  him.  and  that  as  he  was  in  the  chair,  he  would  not  let 


HEKDEKSON    ON    HIS    LEGS.  235 

Henderson  go  on  any  more  unless  he  cut  short  his  abuse  ; 
and  while  Kenrick  was  saying  this,  in  which  lie  entirely 
carried  the  meeting  with  him,  Power  again  whispered, 
"  You're  getting  too  personal,  Flip  ;  but  go  on  ;  only  say 
no  more  about  Kenrick — though  I'm  afraid  it's  all  true." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  I  will  say  this,"  continued  Hender- 
son ;  whose  flow  of  words  was  rather  stopped  by  his  having 
been  pulled  up  so  often  ; — "  and  I  ought  to  know,  for  I 
was  in  the  room  at  the  time,  and  I  appeal  to  Anthony  and 
Franklin,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  dormitory,  to  say  if  it  isn't 
true.  It  wasn't  a  joke.  It  wasn't  meant  for  a  joke.  It 
was  a  piece  of  deliberate,  diabolical " 

"  Oh  1  oh  !  oh  !"  began  a  few  of  Harpour's  claqueurs, 
and  the  chorus  was  again  swelled  by  a  score  of  others. 

"  I  repeat  it — of  deliberate,  diabolical  cruelty,  chosen 
just  because  there  was  nothing  more  cruel  they  dared  to 
do.  And,"  he  said,  speaking  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  to 
make  himself  heard  over  the  clamor,  "  the  fellows  who  did 
it  are  a  disgrace  to  St.  Winifred's,  and  they  deserve  to  be 
caned  by  the  monitors,  if  any  fellows  ever  did." 

He  sate  down  amid  a  storm  of  disapprobation,  but  his 
look  never  quailed  for  an  instant,  as  he  glanced  steadily 
round,  and  noticed  how  Kenrick,  though  in  favor  with  the 
multitude,  and  so  much  higher  in  the  school,  did  not  ven- 
ture to  meet  his  eye.  And  he  was  more  than  compensated 
for  the  general  disfavor,  by  feeling  Power's  hand  rest  on 
his  shoulder,  and  hearing  him  whisper  :  "  That's  famous. 
Flip  ;  you're  a  dear  plucky  fellow.  Walter  himself  couldn't 
have  done  it  more  firmly." 

Then,  Belial-like,  rose  Mackworth,  perfectly  at  his  ease, 
intending  as  much  general  mischief  as  lay  in  his  power,  and 
bent  on  saying  as  many  unpleasant  things  as  he  could.  In 
this,  however,  his  benevolent  views  were  materially  frus- 
trated by   Henderson,  who  made   uis  contemptuous   com- 


24.0  MACKwoirni  and  whalley. 

ments  in  a  tone  sufficiently  loud  to  be  heard  by  many 
and  quite  distinctly   enough    to   disconcert   Maekwortk'a 
oratory. 

"  As  the  gentleman  who  has  just  sat  down  has  poured 
so  many  bottles  of  wrath  " 

"  Bottles  of  French  varnish,"  suggested  Henderson — "  on 
our  heads  generally,  I  must  be  allowed  to  make  a  few  re- 
marks in  reply.  His  speech  consisted  of  nothing  but  rabid 
abuse,  without  a  shred  of  argument." — "  Rabid  fact,  with- 
out a  shred  of  fudge,"  interpolated  Henderson 

"  If  for  every  trifling  freak  fellows  were  to  be  telling 
tl  e  monitors,  we  had  better  inaugurate  a't  once  the  era  of 
sr.eaks  and  cowards." 

"  Era  of  sham  polish  and  fiddlestick  ends,"  echoed  Hen- 
derson ;  and  Mackworth,  who  had  every  intention  of  mak- 
ing; a  very  flourishing  speech,  was  so  disconcerted  by  this 
unwonted  pi  uning  of  his  periods,  that  he  somewhat  abruptly 
sat  down,  muttering  anathemas  on  Henderson,  and  flus- 
tered quite  out  of  his  usual  bland  manner. 

"  Something  has  been  said  about  cowardice  and  sneak 
ing,"  said  Whalley,  getting  up.  "  I  should  like  to  know 
whether  you  think  it  more  cowardly  to  fight  a  fellow  twice 
one's  size,  and  to  mark  him  pretty  considerably  too"  (a 
remark  which  Whalley  unceremoniously  emphasized  by 
pointing  at  Harpour's  black  eye),  "  or  to  lay  a  plot  to 
frighten  in  the  dark  a  mere  child,  very  nervous  and  very 
timid,  who  has  never  harmed  any  one  in  his  life  ?" 

Next,  Howard  Tracy,  addressing  the  meeting,  running 
his  hand  occasionally  through  his  hair,  "  would  put  the 
question  on  a  different  footing  altogether.  As  to  what 
had  been  done  to  Eden,  he  stood  on  neutral  ground,  and 
gave  no  opinion.  But  who,  he  asked,  were  these  rnom- 
V>rs  that  they  should  thrash  any  one  at  all  ?  He  had 
never  heard  that  they  were  of  particularly  good  families, 


FKANKLIN    AND    POWER.  211 

or  'that  they  had  anything  whatever  which  gave  them  a 
claim  to  interfere  with  other  fellows.  The  quest  on  was, 
whether  a  parcel  of  monitors  were  to  domineer  over  the 
6chool  ?" 

"  The  question  was  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Franklin, 
very  bluntly  ;  "  it  was,  whether  big  bullies,  like  Harpour, 
were  to  be  at  perfect  liberty  to  frighten  fellows  into  idiots, 
or  beat  them  into  mummies,  at  their  own  will  and  pleasure  ? 
That  was  the  only  question.  Harpour  or  Somers — bullies 
or  monitors,  which  will  you  hove,  boys  ?" 

And  after  this  arose  a  perfect  hubbub  of  voices.  Some 
got  up  and  ridiculed  the  monitors  ;  others  extolled  Har- 
pour, and  tried  to  make  out  that  he  was  misused  for  being 
called  to  account  for  a  mere  frolic  ;  others  taunted  Evson 
and  Henderson  with  a  conspiracy  against  their  private  ene- 
mies. On  the  whole,  they  were  nearly  unanimous  in  agree- 
ing that  the  school  should  preveut  the  monitors  from  any 
exercise  of  their  authority. 

And  then,  in  the  midst  of  the  hubbub,  Power  rose,  "  in 
act  more  graceful,"  and  there  was  an  immediate  and  gene- 
-al  call  for  silence.  To  the  great  majority  of  the  boys, 
Power  was  hardly  known  except  by  name  and  by  sight ; 
but  his  school  successes,  his  rare  ability,  his  stainless  cha- 
racter, and  many  personal  advantages,  commanded  for  him 
the  highest  admiration.  His  numerous  slight  acquaint- 
ances in  the  school  all  liked  his  pleasant  and  playful  cour- 
tesy, and  were  proud  to  know  him  ;  his  few  friends 
entertained  for  him  an  almost  extravagant  affection.  His 
ancient  name,  his  good  family,  and  the  respect  due  to  his 
high  position  in  the  school,  would  alone  have  been  suffici- 
ent to  gain  him  a  favorable  hearing  ;  but,  besides  this,  h« 
had  hitherto  come  forward  so  little,  that  there  was  a  strong 
curiosity  to  see  what  line  he  would  take,  and  how  he  would 
be  able  to  speak.     There  were  indeed  a  few  who  were  mos: 

11 


242  POWEKTS    SPEECH 

anxious  to  silence  him  as  quickly  as  possible,  knowing  vhat 
effect  his  words  would  be  likely  to  produce  ;  and  when  he 
began,  they  raised  several  noisy  interruptions  ;  but  Ken- 
rick,  for  very  shame,  was  obliged  at  first  to  demand  for 
hira  the  attention  which,  after  the  first  sentence  or  two, 
his  quiet,  conciliatory,  and  persuasive  manner  effectually 
secured. 

Reviewing  the  whole  tumultuary  discussion,  he  began  by 
answering  Kenriek.  After  alluding  to  the  long  course  of 
bullying  which  had  been  ended  in  this  manner,  he  appealed 
to  the  common  sense  of  the  meeting  whether  the  thing 
could  be  regarded  as  a  mere  joke,  when  they  remembered 
Eden's  tender  age,  and  highly  susceptible  nature  ?  Was  it 
not  certain,  and  must  it  not  have  been  obvious  to  the  bul- 
lies, that  serious,  if  not  desperately  dangerous  results  must 
follow  ?  Wliat  those  results  had  beeu  was  well  known, 
and  in  describing  what  he  had  seen  of  them  in  the  sick- 
room only  half  an  hour  before,  Power  made  a  warm  appeal 
to  their  feelings  of  pity  and  indignation — an  appeal  which 
every  one  felt  to  be  manly,  and  which  could  not  fail  of 
being  deeply  touching,  because  it  was  both  simple  and 
natural. 

"  Then,"  said  Power,  "  the  next  speaker  talked  about 
sneaking  and  cowardice.  Well,  those  charges  had  been 
sufficiently  answered  by  Whalley,  and,  indeed,  on  behalf 
of  his  friends  Evson  and  Henderson,  he  perhaps  need  hardly 
condescend  to  answer  them  at  all.  His  friend  Henderson 
had  been  long  enough  among  them  to  need  no  defence,  and 
if  he  did,  it  would  be  sufficiently  supplied  by  the  high  ecu- 
rage,  of  which  they  had  just  seen  a  specimen.  As  for 
fcivson,  any  boy  who  had  given  as  many  proofs  of  honor 
and  manliness  as  he  had  done  during  his  two  terms  at  St, 
Winifred's  certainly  required  no  one's  shield  to  be  thrown 
over  him.     Would   any  of  them  show   their   courage  by 


A    YOUNG    ORATOR.  243 

walking  across  the  Razor  on  some  dark  foggy  winters 
night  ?  and  would  they  find  in  the  school  any  other  fellow 
of  Evson's  age  who  would  not  shrink  from  standing  up  iu  a 
regular  fair  fight  with  another  of  twice  his  own  strength 
and  size  ?  Those  charges  he  thought  he  might  throw  to 
the  winds  ;  he  was  sure  that  no  one  believed  them  ;  but 
there  was,  he  admitted,  one  cowardice  of  which  his  two 
friends  had  often  been  guilty,  and  it  was  a  cowardice  for 
which  they  need  not  blush  ;  he  meant  the  cowardice,  the 
arrant,  the  noble  cowardice  of  being  afraid  not  to  do  what 
they  thought  right,  and  of  being  afraid  to  do  what  they 
knew  to  be  base  and  wrong." 

Iu  these  remarks  Power  quite  carried  his  audience  away 
with  him  ;  the  strain  was  of  a  higher  mood  than  boys  had 
often  heard  from  boys,  and  it  was  delivered  with  an  elo- 
quence and  earnestness  that  raised  a  continuous  applause. 
This,  however,  Power  checked  by  going  on  speaking  until 
he  was  obliged  to  stop  and  take  breath  ;  but  then  it  burst 
out  in  the  most  unmistakable  and  enthusiastic  manner,  and 
entirely  drowned  the  few  and  timid  counter-demonstrations 
of  the  Jones  and  Mackworth  school. 

"  Now  I  have  detained  you  too  long,"  said  Power,  "  and 
\  apologise  for  it  (go  on  1  go  on  !  shouted  the  boys) ;  but 
as  so  many  have  spoken  on  the  other  side,  and  so  few  on 
this,  perhaps  you  will  excuse  me  (yes,  yes  !)  Well,  then, 
Tracy  has  asked,  '  Who  are  the  monitors  ?  and  what  right 
have  they  to  interfere  V  I  answer,  that  the  monitors  are 
our  school-fellows,  and  are  simply  representatives  of  the 
most  mature  form  of  public  school  opinion.  They  have  ail 
l»eeu  lower  boys  ;  they  have  all  worked  their  way  up  to 
the  foremost  place  ;  they  are,  in  short,  the  oldest,  the  ch> 
verest,  the  strongest,  and  the  wisest  among  us.  And  theii 
rie;ht  depends  on  an  authority  voluntarily  delegated  to  them 
by  the  masters,  by  our  parents,  and  by  ourselves — a  right 


244  MONITORS. 

originally  founded  on  justice  and  common  sense,  and  vene- 
rable by  very  many  years  of  prestige  and  of  success.  At 
any  rate,  a  fellow  who  behaves  as  Harpour  has  done,  haa 
the  least  right  to  complain  of  this  exercise  of  a  higher 
authority.  If  he  had  a  right — and  he  has  no  right  except 
brute  strength,  if  that  be  a  right — to  bully,  beat,  torment 
and  perhaps  injure  for  life  a  poor  little  inoffensive  child, 
and  by  doing  so  to  render  the  name  of  the  school  infamous, 
I  maintain  that  the  monitors,  who  have  the  interest  of  the 
school  most  at  heart,  who  are  ranged  ex  officio  on  the  side 
of  truth,  of  justice,  and  of  honor,  have  infinitely  more  right 
to  thrash  him  for  it.  Supposing  that  there  were  no  moni- 
tors, what  would  the  state  of  the  school  be  ?  above  all, 
what  would  be  the  condition  of  the  younger  and  weaker 
boys  ?  they  would  be  the  absolutely  defenceless  prey  of  a 
most  odious  tyranny.  Let  me  say  then,  that  I  most  dis- 
tinctly and  emphatically  approve  of  the  manner  in  which 
my  friends  have  acted  ;  that  I  envy  and  admire  the  moral 
courage  which  helped  them  to  behave  as  they  did  ;  and 
that  if  the  school  attempts  on  this  occasion  to  resist  the 
legitimate  and  most  wholesome  exercise  of  the  monitors' 
power,  it  will  suffer  a  deep  disgrace  and  serious  loss.  I 
oppose  Kenrick's  motion  with  every  feeling  of  my  heart, 
and  with  every  sentiment  of  my  mind.  I  think  it 
.langerous,  I  think  it  useless,  and  I  think  it  most  un- 
just." 

A  second  burst  of  applause  followed  Power's  energetic 
words,  and  continued  for  several  minutes.  He  had  utterly 
changed  the  opinions  of  many  who  were  present,  and  Ken- 
rick  felt  his  entire  sympathy  and  admiration  enlisted  on 
behalf  of  his  former  friend.  He  would  at  the  moment 
have  given  anything  to  get  up  and  retract  his  previous  re- 
marks, and  beg  pardon  for  them.  But  his  pride  and  pas- 
sion were  too  strong  for  him,  and  coldly  rising,  he  put  it  to 


THE    RESULT.  2-A5 

the  meeting,  "  whether  they  decided  that  che  monitors  had 
the  right  to  interfere  or  not." 

Jones,  Mackworth,  Harpour,  and  others,  were  eager)) 
canvassing  for  votes,  and  when  Kenrick  demanded  a  shew 
of  hands,  a  good  many  were  raised  on  their  side.  When 
the  opposite  question  was  put,  at  first  only  Power,  Render 
son,  Whalley,  and  Franklin  held  up  their  hands  ;  but  they 
were  soon  followed  by  Bliss,  then  by  Anthony  and  Cradock, 
and  then  by  a  great  many  more  who  took  courage  when 
they  saw  what  champions  were  on  their  side.  The  hands 
were  counted,  and  there  was  found  to  be  an  equal  number 
on  both  sides.  The  announcement  was  received  with  dead 
silence. 

"  The  chairman  of  course  has  a  casting  vote,"  said  Mack- 
worth. 

Kenrick  sat  still  for  a  moment,  not  without  an  inward 
conflict  ;  and  then,  afraid  to  risk  his  popularity  with 
those  whom  he  had  now  adopted  as  his  own  set,  he  said, 
rising — 

"  And  I  give  it  against  the  right  of  the  monitors." 

A  sceue  of  eager  partisanship  and  loud  triumph  ensued, 
during  which  Power  once  more  stood  forward,  and  ob- 
served— 

"  You  must  allow  me  to  remind  you  that  the  present 
meeting  in  no  way  represents  the  sense  of  the  school.  I 
do  not  see  a  dozen  boys  present  who  are  above  the  lowest 
fifth  form  ;  and  I  do  earnestly  entreat  those  who  have 
gained  this  vote  not  to  disturb  the  peace  and  comfort  of 
the  school  by  attempting  a  collision  between  themselves  and 
the  mouitors,  who  will  certainly  be  supported  by  the  uearlj 
ananhnous  opinion  of  the  upper  fifth  forms." 

"  We  shall  see  about  that,"  answered  Kenrick  in  a  con 
fident  tone.  "  At  any  rate,  the  vote  is  carried."  He  left 
♦he  chair,  and  the  boys  broke  up  into  various  groups  stilj 


246  POWER   AND   KENRICK. 

eagerly  discussing  the  rights  and  wrongs  of  the  question 
which  had  beeo  stirred. 

"So,  Power,"  said  Kenrick  with  a  sneer,  which  he  as- 
sumed to  hide  his  real  feelings,  "  all  your  fine  eloquence  is 
thrown  away  you  see.  We've  carried  the  day  after  all,  in 
spite  of  you." 

"  Yes,  Ken,"  said  Power,  gently.  "  How  conies  Ken- 
rick to  be  on  the  same  side  as  Jones,  Mackworth,  arid 
Harpoor  1"' 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-SEVENTH. 

THE    MONITORS. 

frUIE  meeting  over,  Henderson,  who  had  not  seen  Wakei 
since  morning,  flew  up  to  the  sick-room  to  tell  him  the 
-*»  news,  which  he  was  sure  would  specially  interest  him. 
As  he  entered,  the  same  spectacle  was  before  him  which 
.Power  had  already  seen — little  Eden  restless,  and  some- 
times wandering — Walter  seated  silently  by  the  bed  watch- 
ing him,  his  legs  crossed,  and  his  hands  clasped  over  one 
knee.  The  curtains  were  drawn  to  exclude  the  glare. 
Walter  could  read  but  little,  for  his  eyes  were  weak  after 
the  fight  ;  but  his  thoughts  and  his  nursing  of  his  little 
friend  kept  him  occupied.  Henderson,  fresh  from  the  hot 
excitement  of  the  meeting,  was  struck  with  the  deep  con- 
trast presented  by  this  painfully  quiet  scene. 

He  was  advancing  eagerly,  but  Walter  rose  with  his 
finger  on  his  lip,  and  spoke  to  him  in  a  whisper,  for  Eden 
had  just  dropped  oft'  to  sleep. 

Henderson  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  whis- 
pered— "  I've  such  lots  to  tell  you  ;"  and,  sitting  down  by 
Walter,  he  gave  him  an  account  of  what  had  just  taken  place. 
"  You  should  have  heard  Power,  Walter  ;  upon  my  word 
he  spoke  like  an  orator,  and  regularly  bowled  the  Harpour 
lot  off  their  legs.  It's  splendid  to  see  him  coming  out  so 
ia  the  school — isn't  it  ?" 

"  It  is  indeed  ;  and  thanks  to  you,  to:,  Flip,  for  sticking 
up  lor  me." 

"  Oh,  what  I  did  was  just  nothing.  But  ordy  fancy  that 
Vellow  Kenrick  fighting  against  us  like  this,  and  giving  hu 


248  m  THE   SICK-ROOM. 

casting  vote  against  Harpour's  being  thrashed  !  You've 
no  idea,  Walter,  how  that  fellow's  changed." 

He  was  interrupted,  for  Eden  woke  with  a  short  scream, 
and,  starting  up  in  bed,  looked  round  with  a  scared  expres- 
sion, shuddering  and  moaning  as  he  fell  back  again  on  his 
pillow. 

"  Oh,  don't,  don't,  don't  frighten  me,"  he  said  appeal- 
ingly,  while  the  perspiration  burst  out  over  his  pale  face  ; 
"  please,  Harpour,  please  don't.  Oh,  Walter,  Walter,  do 
help  me." 

"  Hush,  my  poor,  little  fellow,  I'm  here,"  said  Walter, 
tenderly,  as  he  smoothed  his  pillow;  "don't  be  afraid,  Arty, 
you're  quite  safe,  and  I  am  staying  with  you.  They  only 
put  on  masks  to  frighten  you  ;  it  was  nothing  but  that." 

Bending  over  the  bed,  he  talked  to  him  in  a  gentle,  sooth- 
ing voice,  and  tried  to  make  him  feel  at  ease,  while  the 
child  flung  both  his  arms  round  his  neck,  sobbing,  and  still 
clung  tight  to  his  hand  when  Walter  had  succeeded  in  al- 
laying the  sudden  paroxysm  of  terror. 

Henderson,  deeply  touched,  had  looked  on  with  glisten- 
ing eyes.  "  How  kind  you  are,  Walter,"  he  said,  taking 
his  other  hand,  and  affectionately  pressing  it.  "  I  should 
just  like  to  have  Kenrick  here,  and  show  him  what  his  new 
friends  have  done." 

"  Don't  be  indignant  against  him,  Flip.  I  wish,  indeed, 
he  would  but  come  into  this  room,  and  make  it  up  with  us, 
and  be  what  he  once  was.  But  he  did  not  even  take  the 
slightest  notice  of  the  letter  I  wrote  him,  entreating  him 
to  overlook  any  fault  I  had  been  guilty  of,  however  uncon- 
sciously. I  never  meant  to  wrong  him,  and  I  love  him  as 
much  as  ever." 

"Love  him  ["  said  Hei  Person,  "/  don't  ;  his  new  liue 
Isn't  half  to  my  fancy.  He  must  be  jolly  miserable,  that's 
one  comfort." 


NEWS  24:9 

"  Hush  !  he  was  our  friend,  Flip,  remember  ;  indeed,  1 
feel  as  a  friend  to  him  still,  whatever  his  feelings  are  for  ?ne 
But  why  do  you  think  he  must  be  miserable  ?" 

"  Because  you  can  see  in  his  face  and  manner,  that  all 
the  while  he  knows  he's  in  the  wrong,  and  is  thoroughly 
ashamed  at  bottom." 

"  Well,  let's  hope  he'll  come  round  again  all  the  sooner. 
Have  you  broken  with  him,  then  ?" 

"  Well,  nearly.  We  are  barely  civil  to  each  other,  that's 
all,  and  I  don't  suppose  we  shall  be  even  that  now;  for  1 
pitched  into  him  to-day  at  the  meeting." 

Walter  only  sighed,  and  just  then  Power  stole  into  the 
room. 

"  Hallo  !"  he  said,  "  Flip,  I  believe  you  and  I  shall  kill 
the  invalids  between  us.  I  just  met  Dr.  Keith  on  the  stairs, 
and  he  only  gave  me  leave  to  come  for  five  minutes,  for  he 
says  they  both  need  quiet.  You,  I  suspect,  Master  Flip, 
took  French  leave." 

"  I  like  that,"  said  Henderson,  laughing,  "  considering 
that  this  is  your  second  visit,  and  only  my  first.  I've  been 
telling  Walter  about  the  meeting." 

"  The  credit — if  there  be  any — is  yours,  Flip  ;  you  broke 
the  ice,  and  showed  the  Harpourites  that  they  weren't  going 
to  carry  it  all  their  own  way   as  they  fancied." 

"I'm  so  glad  you  came  out  strong,  Power,"  said  Walter  ; 
"  Flip  says  you  took  them  all  by  storm." 

"That's  Flip's  humbug,"  said  Power  ;  "but,"  he  whis- 
pered, "  if  I  did  any  good,  it's  all  through  you,  Walter." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Why,  first  of  all,  I  wasn't  going  to  hear  animals  like 
Mackworth   abuse  you  ;  and   next,  but  for  you  I  should 
have  continued  my  old  selfish  way  of  keeping  aloof  from 
All  school  concerns.     It  cost  me  an  effort  to  conquer  my  shy 
uess,  but  I  remembered  our  old  talk  on  Apper.fell,  T,r niter.* 

11* 


250  A.    NOTICE. 

Walter  smiled  gratefully,  and  Power  continued,  "  But 
I've  come  to  tell  you  both  a  bit  of  news." 

"  What's  that  ?"  they  asked  eagerly. 

"  Why,  there's  a  notice  on  the  board,  signed  by  Somers, 
te  say  that  '  All  the  school  are  requested  to  stay  in  their 
places  after  the  master  has  left  the  room  at  two  o'clock 
calling-over.' " 

"  Whew  !  what  a  row  we  shall  have  I"  said  Hender- 
son. 

"  How  I  wish  I  were  well  enough  to  be  out  now,"  said 
Walter.     "  I  hate  to  be  shut  up  while  all  this  is  going  on.'' 

"  Poor  fellow,  with  that  face  1"  said  Power.  "  No;  you 
must  be  content  to  wait  and  get  well." 

"  It  isn't  the  face  that  keeps  me  in,  Power;  it's  the  bang 
on  the  head,  Keith  says." 

"  Yes  ;  and  Keith  says  that  he  doesn't  know  when  you 
will  be  well  if  these  young  chatterboxes  stay  with  you,"  said 
the  good-humored  doctor,  entering  at  the  moment.  "  Van 
ish,  both  of  you." 

The  boys  smiled  and  bade  Walter  good-bye,  as  they 
wished  him  speedy  relief  from  Dr.  Keith's  prison.  "And  when 
do  you  think  poor  little  Eden  may  come  and  sit  in  my  study 
again  ?"  asked  Power.     "  I  miss  him  very  much." 

"  You  mustn't  think  of  that  for  a  long  time,"  answered 
the  doctor. 

"  How  about  this  two  o'clock  affair  ?"  saict  Henderson, 
as  they  left  the  room. 

"  Upon  my  word  I  don't  know.  Sit  next  to  me,  Flip, 
in  case  of  a  row." 

"  Are  the  monitors  strong  enough,  do  you  think  ?" 

"  We  shall  see." 

The  school  was  in  a  fever  of  excitement  and  curiosity 
At  dinner  time  nothing  else  was  talked  of  by  the  lowei 
boys,  but  the  upper  forms  kept  a  dignified  silence. 


INSUBORDINATE.  25] 

Two  o'clock  came.  The  names  of  all  the  school  were 
ualled  over,  and,  amid  perfect  silence,  the  master  of  the 
week  left  the  hall.  Then  Somers  stood  up  in  the  dais  and 
6aid — 

"  Is  Harpoar  here  ?  The  rest  please  10  keep  their 
places." 

"  I  am  here.  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?"  said  Harpour 
sulkily,  as  he  stood  up  in  his  place. 

"  First  of  all,  I  want  to  tell  you  before  the  whole  school 
that  you  have  been  behaving  in  a  most  shamefully  cruel  and 
blackguard  way,  and  in  a  way  that  has  produced  disastrous 
consequences  to  one  of  the  little  fellows.  A  big  fellow  like 
you  ought  to  be  thoroughly  ashamed  of  such  conduct.  If 
you  were  capable  of  a  blush,  you  ought  to  blush  for  it.  It. 
is  our  duty  as  monitors,  and  my  duty  as  head  of  the  school, 
to  punish  you  for  this  conduct,  as  Dr.  Lane  has  left  it  in 
our  hands  ;  and  I  am  going  to  cane  you  for  it.  Stand 
out." 

"  I  won't." 

A  sensation  ran  through  the  school  at  this  open  defiance; 
but  Somers,  quite  unmoved,  repeated — 

"  I  take  no  notice  of  your  words,  but  once  again  I  tell 
you  to  stand  out." 

Harpour  quailed  a  little  at  his  firni  tone,  aud  at  the  total 
absence  of  all  support  from  his  fellows  ;  but  he  again  flatly 
refused  to  stand  out. 

"Very  well,"  said  Somers;  "you  have  already  defied  the 
authority  of  one  monitor,  and  that  is  an  aggravation  of 
your  original  offence.  I  should  have  been  glad  to  have 
avoided  a  scene  ;  but  if  your  common  sense  doesn't  make 
you  bear  the  punishment  coolly,  you  shall  bear  it  by  force 
Will  you  stand  out  ? — no  ? — than  you  shall  be  made. 
Fetch  him  here,  some  one,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  sixth 
fcrm. 


252  KENRICK  6   PROTEST. 

The  second  monitor,  Dan  vers,  quietly  seized  llarpour's 
right  arm,  and  Macon,  one  of  the  biggest  fellows  in  the  fifth 
fcrm;  of  his  own  accord  got  up  and  seized  the  other.  Har- 
pour's  heart  sank  at  this  ;  for  Dauvers  and  the  other  were 
with  him  in  the  cricket  eleven,  and  he  was  not  as  strong  as 
either  of  them  singly. 

"  Now,  mark,"  said  Somers,  "  caned  you  shall  be,  to  re- 
deem the  character  of  the  school  ;  but  unless  you  take  it 
without  being  made  tc  take  it,  your  name  shall  also  be 
immediately  struck  off  the  school  list,  and  you  shall  leave 
St.  Winifred's  this  evening,  You'll  be  no  great  loss, 
I  take  it.  So  much  I  may  tell  you  as  a  proof  that  the 
head-master  has  left  us  to  vindicate  the  name  of  St.  Wini- 
fred's." 

Seeing  that  resistance  was  useless,  Harpour  accordingly 
stood  out  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  but  not  until  he  had 
cast  an  inquiring  look  among  those  who  embraced  his  side; 
and  these,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  were  tolerably  numerous, 
all  looked  at  Kenrick  that  he  might  give  some  hint  as  to 
what  they  should  do.  Thus  appealed  to,  Kenrick  rose  and 
said — 

"  I  protest  against  this  caning." 

"  You  !"  said  Somers,  turning  contemptuously  in  that 
direction.     "  Who  are  you  ?" 

The  general  titter  which  these  words  caused  made  Ken 
rick  furious,  and  he  cried  out,  angrily — 

"  It  is  against  the  opinion  of  the  majority  cf  ihe 
school." 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  Somers,  with  stinging  sang  froid  • 
"  meanwhile,  you  may  sit  down,  and  let  the  majority  of  the 
school  speak  for  themselves,  otherwise  you  may  be  re- 
quested to  occupy  a  still  more  prominent  position.  I  shall 
have  something  to  say  to  you  presently." 

"  Let's  rescue  him  !"  said  Kenrick,  springing  forward 


HAEPODK    CAKED.  253 

and  several  fellows  stirred  in  answer  to  the  appeal  ;  hut 
Macon,  seizing  hold  of  Tracy  with  one  arm,  and  Mackworth 
with  the  other,  thrust  them  both  down  on  the  floor,  and 
Danvers.  catching  hold  of  Kenrick,  swung  him  over  the  form, 
and  pinned  him  there  The  general  laugh  with  which  this 
proceeding  was  received  showed  that  only  a  small  handful 
of  the  school  were  really  opposed  to  the  monitors,  and  that 
most  boys  thoroughly  concurred  with  them,  and  held  them 
to  be  in  the  right.  So  Macon  quietly  boxed  Jones's  ears, 
since  Jones  was  making  a  noise,  and  then  told  him  and  the 
others  that  they  might  return  to  their  places. 

Crimsoned  all  over  with  shame  and  anger,  Kenrick  sat 
down,  and  Somers  proceeded  to  administer  to  Harpour  a  most 
severe  caning.  That  worthy  quite  meant  to  stretch  to  the 
utmost  his  powers  of  endurance,  and  made  several  scornful 
remarks  after  each  of  the  first  blows.  But  Somers  had  no 
intention  to  let  him  off  too  easily.  Each  sneer  was  followed 
by  a  harder  cut,  and  the  remarks  were  very  soon  followed 
by  a  silent  but  significant  wince.  It  was  not  until  a  writhe 
had  been  succeeded  by  a  sob,  and  a  sob  by  a  howl,  that 
Somers  said  to  him — 

"  Now  you  may  go." 

And  Harpour  did  go  to  his  seat,  in  an  agony  of  mingled 
pain  and  shame.  He  had  boasted  repeatedly  that  he  would 
never  take  a  thrashing  from  any  one  ;  but  he  had  takeu  it, 
and  succumbed  to  it,  and  that,  too,  in  the  presence  of  the 
whole  school.  He  was  tremendously  ashamed  :  he  never  for- 
got the  scene,  and  determined  never  to  lose  an  opportunity 
of  revenging  it. 

The  school  felt  it  to  be  an  act  of  simple  justice,  and  tha+ 
the  punishment  was  richly  deserved.  They  looked  on  in 
stern  silence  ;  and  those  lower  boys  who  had  in  the  morn- 
ing determined  to  interfere,  gazed  with  some  discomfiture 
Ctpoc  their  chainpio.'  s  fall. 


254:  SOMERS. 

"  And  now,  Master  Kenrick,  you  sta-nd  liere.  What,  no) 
Stand  here,  sir." 

Kenrick  only  glared  defiance, 

"  Danvers,  hand  him  here."  But  Danvers  stepped  up  to 
Somers  and  whispered  :  "  Don't  be  too  sharp  on  him,  Som- 
ers,  or  you'll  drive  him  to  despair.  Remember,  he's  high 
in  the  fifth,  and  has  been  a  distinguished  fellow.  Don't 
make  too  much  of  this  one  escapade." 

"  All  right.  Thanks,  Danvers,"  said  Somers;  and  added 
aloud,  in  a  less  sarcastic  tone,  "  Come  here,  Kenrick  ;  I 
merely  wish  to  speak  a  word  with  you  ;"  and  then  Danvers, 
kindly  but  firmly,  took  the  boy's  hand,  and  led  him  for 
ward. 

"  You  said  the  majority  of  the  school  denied  our  right 
to  interfere  ?" 

No  answer. 

"Do  you  consider  yourself  in  person  to  be  the  majority 
of  the  school,  pray  ?" 

No  answer. 

"  We  are  all  perfectly  aware,  sir,  of  your  meeting,  and 
of  your  precious  casting-vote.  But  you  must  be  informed 
that  a  rabble  of  fourth-form  boys  do  not  constitute  the 
school  in  any  sense  of  the  word.  Aud  understand  too  that, 
even  if  the  majority  of  the  school  had  been  against  us,  we 
monitors  are  not  quite  so  ignoraut  of  our  solemn  duty  as  to 
make  that  any  reason  for  letting  a  brutal  and  cowardly  act 
cf  bullying  go  unpunished.  You  have  been  very  silly,  Ken- 
rick, and  have  been  just  misled  by  conceit.  Yes,  you  may 
look  angry  ;  but  you  know  me  of  old  ;  you've  never  re- 
ceived anything  but  kindness  at  my  hands  since  the  day 
you  were  my  fag,  and  I  tell  you  again  that  you've  just 
been  misled  by  conceit.  Think  rather  less  of  yourself,  my 
good  fellow.  You  ought  to  have  known  better.  Youi 
friend  Power  has  shown  you  an  infinitely  more  sensible  ex 


MASTER    OF    THK    SITUATION.  255 

ample.  You  may  sit  down,  sir,  with  this  warning  ;  and, 
in  the  name  of  the  monitors,  I  beg  to  thank  the  other  fel- 
lows, especially  Evson  and  Henderson,  who  did  their 
best  to  protect  little  Eden.  They  behaved  like  thorough 
gentlemen,  and  it  would  be  well  if  more  of  you  younger 
boys  were  equally  alive  to  the  true  honor  of  the 
6chool." 

"  I  wish  he'd  be  more  conciliatory,"  whispered  Dimock 
to  Danvers  ;  "  he's  plucky  and  firm,  but  so  very  dictato- 
rial and  unpersuasive.  Besides,  he's  forgotten  to  thank 
Power." 

"  Yes,"  said  Danvers,  "  his  tone  spoiis  all.  Somers,"  he 
said,  "  you've  omitted  to  mention  Power,  and  the  fellows 
will  be  gone  in  a  minute." 

"  Pve  been  talking  so  much,  you  say  it." 
"  Not  I  ;  I'm  no  speaker.- — Here,  Dimock  will." 
"  Aye,   that'll   do.     One   minute   more,  please,"  called 
Somers,  raising  his  hand  to  the  boys,  who,  during  this  rap- 
idly whispered  conversation,  were  beginning  to  leave  their 
places. 

"  Somers  wishes  me  to  add,"  said  Dimock,  "  that  all  the 
monitors  and  many  of  the  sixth  and  fifth  forms  wish  to  ex- 
press our  best  thanks  to  Power  for  the  exceedingly  honor- 
able and  fearless  way  in  which  he  this  morning  maintained 
the  rights  and  duties  which  belong  to  us.  You  younger 
fellows  know  very  well  that  we  monitors  extremely  dislike 
to  interfere,  that  we  do  so  only  on  the  rarest  occasions,  and 
that  we  are  always  most  anxious  to  avoid  caning.  Yon 
know  that  we  never  resort  to  it  unless  we  are  obliged  to  do 
80  by  the  most  flagrant  offences,  which  would  otherwise 
sap  the  honor  and  character  of  the  school.  Let  us  all  be 
united  and  work  together  for  the  good  of  St.  Winifred's 
Don't  let  any  interested  parties  lead  you  to  believe  that  we 
either  do  or  wish  to  tyrannise.     Our  authority  is  for  youj 


256  "  intabescantqtje 

high  and  direct  advantage.     I  appeal  to  you  whether  yoo 
do  not  know  it." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Dimock,"  answered  many  voices  ;  and  before 
tbey  streamed  out  of  the  hall,  they  gave  "  three  cheers  for 
the  monitors,"  which  were  so  heartily  responded  to,  that 
the  hissing  of  Harpour,  Kenrick,  and  others,  only  raised  a 
laugh,  which  filled  to  the  very  brim  the  bitter  cup  of  hatf 
and  indignation  which  Kenrick  had  been  forced  that  day 
to  drink.  To  be  addressed  like  that  before  the  whole 
school — snubbed,  reproved,  threatened — it  was  intolerable; 
that  he,  Kenrick,  high  in  the  school,  brilliant,  promising 
successful,  accustomed  only  to  flattery  and  praise,  should  b( 
publicly  set  down  among  a  rabble  of  lower  boys — it  made 
him  mad  to  think  of  it. 

"  A  nice  tell-tale  mess  you've  made  of  this  business, 
Power,"  he  said,  savagely,  the  red  spot  still  lingering  on 
his  check,  as  he  confronted  his  former  friend.  "  I  hope 
you're  ashamed  of  yourself." 

"  I,  Ken  ?     No." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  be." 

"  Honestly,  Ken,  who  ought  to  be  most  ashamed — you, 
the  advocate  of  Harpour  and  his  set,  or  I,  who  merely  de- 
fended my  best  friend  for  behaving  most  honorably,  as  he 
always  does  ?" 

"  Always .'"  sneered  Kenrick. 

Power  turned  on  him  his  clear  bright  eye,  and  said 
nothing  for  a  moment  ;  but  then  he  laid  his  arm  across  his 
shoulder,  in  the  old  familiar  manner,  and  said,  "  You  are 
r.ot  happy  now,  Ken,  as  you  used  to  be." 

"  Why  the  devil  not  ?" 

Power  shook  his  head.  "  Because  your  heart  is  nobler 
fchau  your  acts  ;  your  nature  truer  than  your  conduct  ;  and 
that  is  and  will  be  your  punishment.  Why  do  you  nurse  this 
bad  feeling  till  it  has  so  mastered  you  V 


KELICTA."  257 

Kenrick  siood  still,  his  cheeks  flushed,  his  eyes  down 
cast  ;  and  Power,  as  he  turned  away,  sadly  repeated,  half 
to  himself,  the  wonderful  verse— 

"  Virtutem  videant,  intabesco.ntque  relicta.* 

Kenrick  understood  it ;  it  came  to  his  heart  like  an  ar- 
row, and  rankled  there  ;  it  made  a  wound — the  faithful 
wound  of  a  friend — better  than  the  kisses  of  an  enemy. 

*  They  behold  virtue,  and  leaving  it  behind,  may  waste  iway. 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-EIGHTH 

FALLING    AWAY 

IT  was  generally  on  Sundays  that  boys  walked  in  the 
croft  with  those  who  were,  and  whom  they  wished  to 
be  considered  as  their  most  intimate  and  confidential 
friends.  To  one  who  knew  anything  of  the  boys'  charac- 
ters, it  was  most  curious  and  suggestive  to  observe  the 
groups  into  which  they  spontaneously  formed  themselves. 
The  sets  at  St.  Winifred's  were  not  very  exclusive  or  very 
accurately  defined  ;  and  one  boy  might,  by  virtue  of  dif- 
ferent sympathies  or  accomplishments,  belong  to  two  or 
three  sets  at  once.  Still  there  were  some  sets  whose  out- 
ermost circles  barely  touched  each  other  ;  and  hitherto 
the  friends  among  whom  Kenrick  had  chiefly  moved  would 
never  have  associated  intimately  with  the  fellows  among 
whom  Harpour  was  considered  as  the  leading  spirit. 

It  was  therefore  with  no  little  surprise  that  Mr.  Perci- 
val,  who  with  Mr.  Paton  passed  through  the  croft  on  his 
Sunday  stroll,  observed  Kenrick — not  with  his  usual  com- 
panions, Power  or  Walter  or  Whalley — but  arm  in  arm 
with  Harpour  and  Tracy,  and  accompanied  by  one  or  two 
other  boys  of  similar  character.  It  immediately  explained 
to  him  much  that  had  taken  place.  He  had  heard  vague 
rumors  of  the  part  Kenrick  had  taken  at  the  meeting  ;  he 
had  heard  both  from  him  aud  from  Walter  that  they  were 
no  longer  on  good  terms  with  each  other  ;  but  now  it  was 
further  plain  tc  him  that  Kenrick  was  breaking  loose  from 
all  Ins  old  moorings,  and  sailing  into  the  cpen  sea  of  wil 
fulness  and  pride. 

25S 


A    FALL.  259 

"  What  are  you  so  much  interested  about  ?"  asked  Mr 
I'atou,  as  his  colleague  followed  the  boys  with  his  glance. 

"  I  am  wondering  how  and  why  this  change  has  come 
over  Kenrick." 

"  What  change  ?" 

"  Don't  you  see  with  whom  he  is  walking  ?  Oh,  I  for- 
got that  you  never  notiee  that  kind  of  outer  life  among 
the  boys  ;  on  the  other  hand,  I  always  do  ;  it  helps  me  to 
understand  these  fellows,  and  do  more  for  them  than  I 
otherwise  could." 

"  You  observe  them  to  some  purpose,  Percival,  at  any 
rate,  for  your  influence  among  them  is  wonderful — as  I 
have  occasion  to  discover  every  now  and  then." 

"  But  Kenrick  puzzles  me.  That  boy  has  dropped 
from  the  society  of  such  a  noble  fellow  as  Power,  with 
his  exquisite  mind  and  manners,  plumb  into  the  abyss  of 
intimacy  with  Harpour  !  There  must  be  something  all 
wrong." 

A  very  little  observation  showed  Mr.  Percival  that  his 
conjectures  about  Kenrick   were   correct.     Clever  as   he 
was,  his  work  deteriorated  rapidly  ;  the  whole  expression 
of  his  countenance  changed  for  the  worse  ;  he  was  impli- 
cated more  than  once  in  very  questionable  transactions  ; 
he  lost  caste  among  the  best  and  most  honorable  fellows, 
and  proportionately  gained  influence  among  the  worst  and 
lowest  lot  in  the  school,  whose  idol  and  hero  he  gradually 
became.     His  descent  was  sudden,  because  his  character 
had  always  been  unstable.     The  pride  and  passion  which 
were  mollified    and  restrained  as  long  as  he  had   moved 
with  wise  and  upright  companions,  broke  forth  with  vio- 
lence when  ouce  he  fancied  himself  slighted,  and  had  com* 
nutted  himself  to   a   course  which  he  well   knew   to   be 
wrong.     There  was  one  who  conjectured  much  of  this  at 
a  very  early  period.     It  was  Kenrick's  mcther  ;  his  letters 


260  ALL   DOWN    HILL. 

always  indicated  the  exact  state  of  bis  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings ;  and  Mrs  Kenrick  knew  that  the  coldness  and  reck 
lessness  which  had  lately  marked  them  were  proofs  that 
her  boy  was  going  wrong.  The  violence,  too,  with  which 
he  spoke  of  Evson,  and  the  indications  that  he  had 
dropped  his  old  friends  and  taken  up  with  new  and  worse 
companions,  filled  her  mind  with  anxiety  and  distress  ;  yet 
what  could  she  do,  poor  lady,  in  her  lonely  home  ?  There 
was  one  thing  only  that  she  could  do  for  him  in  her  weak- 
ness ;  and  those  outpourings  of  sorrowful  and  earnest 
prayer  were  not  in  vain. 

Mr.  Percival  tried  to  make  some  effort  to  save  Kenrick 
from  the  wrong  courses  which  he  had  adopted  ;  he  asked 
him  quietly  to  come  to  his  room  after  dinner  ;  but  the  in- 
terview only  made  matters  worse.  Kenrick,  not  undated 
by  his  popularity  among  the  lower  forms  as  a  champion  of 
the  supposed  "rights"  of  the  school,  chose  to  adopt  an 
independent  and  almost  patronizing  tone  towards  his  tutor; 
he  entered  in  a  jaunty  manner,  and  glancing  carelessly 
over  the  table,  declined  to  take  any  of  the  fruit  to  which 
the  master  invited  him  to  help  himself.  He  determined  to 
be  as  uncommunicative  as  possible  ;  avoided  all  conversa- 
tion, and  answered  Mr.  Percival's  questions  on  all  subjects 
by  monosyllables,  uttered  in  a  disrespectful  and  nonchalant 
tone.  Yet  all  the  while  he  despised  himself,  and  was  ill 
at  ease.  He  knew  the  deep  kindness  of  the  master's  in- 
tentions, and  felt  that  he  ought  to  be  grateful  for  the  inte- 
rest shown  towards  him. 

Mr.  Percival  understood  him  thoroughly,  and  saw  that 
he  must  be  left  to  the  bitter  teachings  of  experience.  Al- 
ways fond  of  Kenrick,  he  had  never  been  blind  to  his  many 
faults  of  character,  and  was  particularly  displeased  with 
his  present  manner,  which  lit  knew  to  be  only  adopted 
on  purpose  to  baffle  any  approach  to  advice  or  warning. 


A    WARNING.  2G1 

"  Good  morning,  Kenrick,"  he  said,  rising  rather  ab- 
ruptly,  while  a  slight  smile  of  pity  rested  on  his  lips. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Kenrick  ;  and  as  he  rose  in 
an  airy  manner  to  leave  the  room,  Mr.  Percival  put  a  hand 
on  each  of  the  boy's  shoulders,  and  looked  him  steadily  in 
the  face.  Kenrick  tried  to  meet  the  look,  not  with  the 
old  open  gaze  of  frank  and  innocent  confidence,  but  with 
an  expression  half  shrinking,  half  defiant.  His  eyes  fell 
immediately,  and  satisfied  by  this  perusal  of  his  features 
that  Kenrick  was  going  wrong,  Mr.  Percival  said  on.y 
this  : 

"  Your  face,  my  boy,  is  as  a  book  where  men 
May  read  strange  matters." 

Xenrick  had  tried  to  be  off-hand  and  patronising  in  his 
manner,  but  the  attempt  had  failed  egregiously,  and  he  felt 
very  uncomfortable  as  he  left  the  room  where  he  had  so 
often  met  with  kindness,  and  which  he  iiever  entered  on  the 
same  terms  again. 

Meanwhile  our  two  invalids,  Walter  and  Eden,  recov- 
ered but  slowly.  But  for  the  kindness  of  every  one  about 
them  their  hours  would  have  passed  very  wearily  in  the 
sick-room.  Their  tedium  was  enlivened  by  constant  visits 
from  Henderson  and  Power,  who  never  failed  to  interest 
Walter  by  their  school  news,  and  especially  by  telling  of 
those  numerous  little  incidents  which  tended  to  show  that 
although  after  the  late  excitements  there  was  a  certain 
detumescence,  still  the  general  effect  had  been  to  arouse  a 
spirit  of  opposition  to  all  constituted  authority.  Kenrick'a 
r.ame  was  sometimes  on  their  lips,  but  as  they  could  not 
speak  of  him  favorably,  and  as  the  subject  was  a  painful 
one,  they  rarely  talked  much  about  him. 

Among  other  visitors  was  Dr.  Lane,  who,  as  well  as 
Mrs.  Lane,  showed  great  solicitude  about  them.  The  doc- 
tor, who  had  been  told  by  Dr.  Keith  that,  but  for  Walter's 


262  THE    INVALIDS. 

tender  nursing,  Eden's  case  might  have  assumed  a  far 
more  dangerous  complexion,  lent  them  interesting  books 
and  pictures,  and  often  came  for  a  few  minutes  to  ex- 
change some  kind  words  with  them.  Mrs.  Lane  asked 
them  to  the  Lodge,  read  to  them,  sang  to  them,  played 
chess  and  draughts  with  them,  and  often  gave  them  drives 
in  her  carriage.  These  little  gracious  acts  of  simple  kind- 
ness won  the  hearts  of  both  the  boys,  and  hastened  their 
convalescence. 

Sometimes  Walter  was  allowed  to  take  Eden  for  a  stroll 
on  the  shore  during  school  hours,  when  there  was  no  dan- 
ger of  their  being  excited  or  interrupted  by  the  boister- 
ous society  of  other  boys.  There  was  one  favorite  spot 
where  the  two  often  sat  reading  and  talking.  It  was  by 
the  mouth  of  the  little  river— a  green  knoil  sheltered  under 
the  rising  hills,  to  the  very  feet  of  which  the  little  waves 
came  rippling  musically  as  the  summer  tide  flowed  in. 
And  here  Eden  would  lie  down  at  full  length  on  the  soft 
grass,  and  doze  quietly,  while  the  gentle  breeze  lifted  his 
fair  hair  from  his  forehead  with  refreshful  coolness  ;  or  he 
would  listen  while  Walter  read  to  him  some  stirring  ballad 
or  pleasant  tale. 

And  thus  iu  the  course  of  a  fortnight  Walter  *vas  him- 
self again,  and  Eden,  not  long  after,  was  so  far  recovered 
as  to  be  allowed  to  join  his  schoolfellows  in  the  usual  rou- 
tine. He  was,  however,  removed  with  Walter,  and  Hen 
derson,  and  Power,  to  another  dormitory,  which  they  had 
to  themselves  ;  and  the  promise  of  this,  relieving  his  mind 
from  a  constant  source  of  dread,  helped  him  to  recover. 
The  boys,  too,  conscious  how  great  a  wrong  had  been 
done  to  him,  received  him  back  among  them  with  unusual 
consideration  and  delicate  kindness.  They  pitied  him 
heartily.  It  was  impossible  not  to  do  so  when  they  looked 
at  his  wan,  sad  face,  so  changed  in  expression  ;  and  when 
;hev  observed  his  timid,  shrinking  maimer,  and  the  treuaof 


IN    THE    DARK.  2()3 

which  came  over  him  at  any  sudden  sight  or  sound.  So 
3very  voice  was  softened  when  they  spoke  to  him,  and  the 
maimer  of  even  the  roughest  bovs  became  to  him  affection 
ate  and  even  caressing.  If  any  had  felt  inclined  to  side 
with  Harpour  against  the  monitors  before,  the  sight  of 
Eden  went  very  far  to  alter  their  conviet'ons. 

Yet  the  poor  child  was  never  happy  except  when  he  was 
in  Walter's  society;  and  in  Power's  study.  Even  there  he 
woo  changed.  The  bright,  merry  laugh  which  cuce  rang 
out  incessantly  was  rarely  or  never  heard  now  ;  and  a 
somewhat  sad  smile  was  all  that  could  be  elicited  from 
him.  He  seemed,  too,  to  have  lost  for  a  time  all  his  old 
interest  in  worl..  The  form  competition  had  no  further 
attraction  for  him  ;  the  work  seemed  irksome,  and  he  had 
no  spirits  to  join  in  any  game.  Once  Power  kindly  rallied 
him  on  his  general  listlessness,  but  Eden  only  looked  up  at 
him  appealing])7,  and  said,  while  the  weak  tears  overflowed 
his  eyes,  "  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  Power,  I  can't  help  it; 
[  don't  feel  quite  right  yet.  O  Power,  I'm  afraid  you'll 
never  like  me  again  as  you  did." 

"  Why,  Arty,  your  illness  is  all  the  more  reason  why  I 
should." 

"  But,  Power,  I  shall  never  be  the  same  as  I  once  was. 
It  seems  as  if  some  light  had  gone  out  and  left  me  in  the 
dark." 

"  Nonsense,  Arty  ;  the  summer  holidays  will  bring  yon 
round  again." 

But  Eden  only  shook  his  head,  and  muttered  something 
about  Colonel  Braeinar  not  being  kind  to  him  and  his  little 
sister. 

"  Do  you  think  they  would  let  you  come  and  stay  part 
of  the  holidays  with  us  ?" 

Eden  brightened  up  in  a  monie-.it,  and  promised  to  write 
and  ask. 


CHAPTER  THE   TWENTY- NINTH. 

WALTER'S     HOLIDAYS. 

ONCE  more  the  end  of  the  half-year  saw  Po\*er  as 
usual  brilliantly  successful,  and  Walter  again  at  the 
head  of  his  form.  Henderson,  too,  although  he 
could  not  proceed  with  Walter,  was  among  the  first  six, 
and  had  gained  more  than  one  school  distinction.  But 
Kenrick  this  time  had  failed  as  he  had  never  done  before  ; 
he  was  but  fourth  in  his  form,  and  although  this  was  the 
natural  fruit  of  his  recent  idleness,  it  caused  him  cruel  mor- 
tification. 

The  end  of  term  did  not  pass  off  quite  so  smoothly  and 
pleasantly  as  it  generally  did.  The  opposition  to  monito- 
rial authority  which  Harpour  had  commenced,  and  Kenrick 
abetted,  did  not  pass  away  at  once  ;  it  left  a  large  amount 
of  angry  feeling  in  the  minds  of  numerous  boys  who  had, 
each  of  them,  influence  in  their  several  ways.  Kenrick 
himself  always  went  to  the  verge  of  impertinence  whenever 
he  could  possibly  do  so  in  dealing  with  any  of  the  sixth, 
and  to  Somers  his  manner  was  always  intentionally  rude, 
although  he  just  managed  to  steer  clear  of  any  overt  insub- 
ordination. He  could  of  course  act  thus  without  the  risk 
of  incurring  any  punishment,  and  without  coming  to  any 
positive  collision.  Many  boys  were  unfortunately  but  too 
ready  to  imitate  his  example. 

These  dissensions  did  not  positively  break  out  on  the 
orize  day,  but  they  made  the  proceedings  far  less  pleasant 
nnd  unanimous  than  they  would  have  been.  The  cheera 
usually  given  to   the  head  of  the  school  were  purposely 

264 


THE    PltlZE    DAY.  205 

omitted,  from  the  fear  of  provoking  any  counter-demonstra- 
tion, and  there  r<  mained  an  uneasy  feeling  in  many  minds. 
The  success  of  the  concert  which  was  yearly  given  by  the 
school  choir  after  the  distribution  of  prizes  was  also  marred 
by  traces  of  the  same  dissension.  In  this  concert  Walter 
had  a  solo  to  sing,  and  although  he  sang  it  remarkably 
well  in  his  sweet  ringing  voice,  he  was  vexed  to  hear  a  few 
decided  hisses  among  the  plaudits  which  greeted  him.  Alto- 
gether the  prize  day — a  great  clay  at  St.  Winifred's — was 
less  successful  than  it  had  ever  been  known  to  be. 

It  brought,  however,  one  pleasure  to  Walter,  in  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Sir  Lawrence  and  Lady  Power,  who  had 
heard  of  him  so  often  in  their  son's  letters,  that  they  beg- 
ged to  be  introduced  to  him  as  soon  as  they  arrived.  He 
was  a  great  deal  with  them  during  the  day,  and  he  helped 
Power  to  show  them  all  that  was  interesting  about  the 
school  and  its  environs.  They  saw  Eden,  too,  and  Lady 
Power  kindly  pressed  her  invitation  on  Mrs.  Braemar,  who 
was  also  present,  and  who  was  not  sorry  that  Arty  could 
stay  with  a  family  so  well  connected,  and  of  such  high  po- 
sition. When  Walter  left  them,  Power  earnestly  asked 
his  mother  what  she  thought  of  his  friend  ? 

"  He  is  the  most  charming  boy  I  ever  saw,"  said  Lady 
Power,  "  and  I  rejoice  that  you  have  chosen  him  as  a  friend. 
But  you  don't  tell  me  anything  about  Kenrick,  of  whom 
you  were  once  so  fond  ;  how  is  that  ?" 

"  I  am  still  fond  of  him,  mother,  but  he  has  changed  a 
good  deal  lately "  At  that  moment  Kenrick  passed 
by  arm  in  arm  with  Harpour,  as  though  to  confirm 
Power's  words,  and  "ecognised  him  with  an  ostentatiously 
careless  nod. 

It  was  thus  that  Walter's  first  year  at  St.  Winifred's 
ended  ;  and  in  spite  of  all  drawbacks  he  felt  that  it  had 
been  a  distinguished  and  happy  year.     He  was  now  yearn* 

12 


266  HOMEWARDS. 

ing  for  home,  and  he  felt  that  he  could  meet  his  deal 
ones  with  honest  pride.  He  made  arrangements  to  corres- 
pond with  Henderson  and  Eden  in  the  holidays,  and  Power 
promised  again  to  visit  him  at  Semlyn,  on  condition  that 
he  would  come  back  with  him  and  spend  a  week  at  Severn 
Park,  that  so  there  might  be  a  double  bond  of  union  be- 
tween them. 

Very  early  the  next  morning  the  boys  were  swarm- 
ing into  coaches,  carriages,  breaks,  and  every  conceivable 
vehicle  which  could  by  any  possibility  convey  them  to  the 
nearest  station.  A  hearty  cheer  accompanied  each  coach 
as  it  rolled  off  with  its  heavy  and  excited  freight  ;  by  nine 
o'clock  not  a  boy  was  left  behind.  The  great  buildings  of 
St.  Winifred's  were  still  as  death  ;  the  footfall  of  the 
chance  passer-by  echoed  desolately  among  them. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Walter  found  himself 
on  the  top  of  the  hill  which  looks  down  over  Semlyn  Lake. 
The  water  lay  beneath  him  a  sheet  of  placid  silver  ;  the 
flowers  were  scattered  on  every  side  in  their  beds  of  erne- 
raid  and  sunlit  moss  ;  the  air,  just  stirred  by  the  light 
breeze,  was  rich  and  balmy  with  the  ambrosial  scent  of  the 
summer  groves  ;  and  high  overhead  the  old  familiar  hills 
reared  their  magnificent  summits  into  the  deep  unclouded 
blue.  But  Walters  bright  eye  was  fixed  on  oue  spot  only 
of  the  enchanting  scene — the  spot  where  the  gables  of  his 
father's  house  rose  picturesquely  on  the  slope  above  the 
lake,  and  where  a  little  bay  in  the  sea  of  dark  green  firs 
gave  him  a  glimpse  of  their  garden,  in  which  he  could  dis- 
cover the  figures  of  his  brothers  and  sisters  at  their  play. 
A  sense  of  unspoken,  unspeakable  happiness  flowed  into 
the  boy's  warm  heart,  and  if  at  the  same  moment  his  eyes 
were  suffused  with  tears,  thev  were  the  tears  that  always 
spring  up  when  the  fountain  of  the  heart  is  stirred  by  any 
strong  emotion  to  its  inmost  depths — the  tears  that  come 


THE    TATH    THROUGH    THE   COP8E.  267 

even  in  laughter  to  show  that  our  very  pleasures  have  then 
own  alloy. 

The  coach  was  still  behind  him  toiling  slowly  up  the 
ascent.  Leaving  it  to  convey  his  luggage  to  the  house,  he 
plunged  down  a  green  winding  path,  ankle-deep  in  soft 
grasses  and  innumerable  flowers,  which  led  to  his  home  by 
a  short  cut  down  the  valley,  along  the  burnside,  and  under 
the  waving  woods.  That  sweet  woodland  path,  cool  and 
fragrant  on  the  most  burning  summer  day,  where  he  had 
often  gathered  the  little  red  ripe  wild  strawberries  that 
peeped  out  here  and  there  from  between  the  scented  spikes 
of  golden  agrimony,  and  under  the  white  graceful  flowers 
of  the  circoea,  was  familiar  and  dear  to  him  from  the  earliest 
childhood.  He  plunged  into  it  with  delight,  and  springing 
along  with  joyous  steps,  reached  in  ten  minutes  the  wicket- 
gate  which  led  into  his  father's  grounds.  The  first  thing 
to  see  and  recognise  him  was  a  graceful  pet  fawn  of  his  sis- 
ter's, which  at  his  whistle  came  trotting  to  him  with  de- 
light, jingling  the  little  silver  bell  which  was  tied  by  a  blue 
riband  round  its  neck.  Barely  stopping  to  caress  the 
beautiful  little  creature's  head,  he  bounded  through  the 
orchard  into  the  garden,  and  the  next  instant  the  delighted 
shout  of  his  brothers  and  sisters  welcomed  him  back,  as 
they  ran  up,  with  all  the  glee  of  innocent  and  happy  child- 
hood, to  greet  him  with  their  repeated  kisses. 

"  Ah,  there  are  papa  and  mamma,"  he  cried,  breaking 
away  from  the  laughing  group,  as  his  mother  advanced 
with  open  arnis  to  meet  him,  and  pressed  him  to  her  heart 
iu  a  long  embrace. 

"  I'm  first  in  my  form,  papa,"  he  said,  looking  joyously 
r<p  into  his  father's  face.     "  Head  remove  again." 

"  Are  you,  Walter  ?  I  am  so  happy  to  hear  it.  F:w 
tbiugs  could  give  me  more  pleasure." 

"  But  that's  nothing  to  being  at  kome,"  he  said,  shout 


268  AT    HOME. 

ing  aloud  in  the  uncontrolled  exuberance  of  his  spirits,  and 
hardly  knowing  which  way  to  turn  in  the  multiplicity  of 
objects  which  seemed  to  claim  his  instant  attention. 

"  Do  come  the  rounds  with  me,  Charlie,"  he  said  to  Km 
favorite  brother,  "  and  let  me  see  all  the  dear  old  places 
again.     We  shall  be  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  And  then,  I  dare  say,  you'll  be  glad  of  some  tea,"  said 
his  mother. 

"  Rather !"  said  Walter  ;  "  let's  have  it  out  here  on  the 
lawn,  mother." 

The  proposal  was  carried  by  acclamation,  and  very  soon 
the  table  was  laid  under  the  witch-elm  before  the  house, 
while  Walter's  little  sisters  had  heaped  up  several  dishes 
with  freshly  plucked  fruit,  laid  in  the  midst  of  flowers  and 
vine  leaves,  and  Walter,  his  face  beamiug  and  his  eyes 
dancing  with  happiness,  was  asking  and  answering  a  thou- 
sand incessant  questions,  while  yet  he  managed  to  enjoy 
very  thoroughly  a  large  bunch  of  grapes,  and  an  immense 
plate  of  strawberries  and  cream. 

And  when  tea  was  over  they  still  sate  out  in  the  lovely 
garden  until  the  witch-elm  had  ceased  to  chequer  their 
faces  with  its  rain  of  flickering  light  ;  and  until  the  lake 
had  paled  from  pure  gold  to  rose-color,  and  from  rose-color 
to  dull  crimson,  and  from  dull  crimson  to  silver  grey,  and 
rippled  again  from  silver  grey  into  a  deep  black  blue,  re- 
lieved by  a  thousand  flashing  edges  of  molten  silver  and 
quivering  gold,  under  the  crescent  moon  and  the  innumera- 
ble stars.  And  the  bats  had  almost  ceased  to  wheel,  and 
in  the  moist  air  of  early  night  the  flowers  were  diffusing 
their  luscious  sweetness,  and  the  nightingale  was  flooding 
the  grove  with  her  unimaginable  rapture,  and  the  eager 
talk  had  hushed  itself  into  a  delicious  calm  of  happy  silence, 
oefore  they  moved.  It  was  a  beautiful  oicture  ; — the 
father  and  mother  still  youthful  enough  to  enjoy  life  to  tin 


HAPPV    HOURS.  26l< 

full,  .appy  at  heart,  and  proud  of  then  eldest  boy  ;  hit 
two  young  brothers  looking  up  to  him  with  such  eager 
hope  and  love  ;  the  little  sisters  with  their  arras  twined 
round  his  neck,  and  their  fair  hair  falling  over  his  shoul- 
ders ;  the  noble,  mirthful,  fearless,  thrice  happy  boy  him- 
self ; — a  family  circle  unseparated  by  distance,  unshadowed 
by  sorrow,  unbroken  by  death,  seated  in  this  exquisite  scene 
on  the  lawn  of  their  own  happy  English  home. 

Thrice  happy  Walter  !  and  almost  like  a  dream  of  hap 
piness  these  holidays  at  home — and  at  such  a  home — flew 
by.  Every  day  and  hour  was  a  change  from  pleasure  to 
pleasure  ;  among  the  hills,  in  the  boat  on  the  sunlit  lake, 
plunging  for  his  cool  morning  swim  in  the  fresh  waters, 
cricketing,  riding,  fishing,  walking  with  his  father  and  mo- 
ther and  brothers,  sitting  and  talking  at  the  cool  nightfall 
in  the  moonlit  garden,  Walter  was  as  happy  as  the  day 
was  long.  And  when  Power  came  to  spend  a  week  with 
them,  again  charming  every  one  whom  he  saw  with  his 
cheerful  unselfishness  and  engaging  manners,  and  himself 
charmed  beyond  expression  with  all  he  saw  at  Walter's 
home,  they  agreed  that  nothing  was  wanting  to  make  their 
Haoofress  "  an  entire  aud  perfect  chrvsolite  " 


fABT    IT. 


•  ♦• 


CHAPTER    THE    THIRTIETH. 

OLD    AND    NEW    FACES. 

AND  now,  gentle  reader,  we  must  imagine  that  two 
whole  years  have  passed  since  the  conclusion  of  those 
•  summer  holidays,  before  we  again  meet  our  young 
friends  of  St.  Winifred's. 

The  two  years — as  what  years  are  not  ? — have  been  ful. 
Df  change. 

The  iirst  we  meet  are  Walter  and  Power — taller  and 
tnaulier  looking  than  they  were,  otherwise  but  little 
changed  in  appearance.  Walter,  with  his  dark  hair  and 
blue  eyes,  his  graceful  figure  and  open  face,  is  still  the 
handsome,  attractive-looking  boy  we  used  to  see.  Power, 
too,  has  the  same  refined,  thoughtful  look,  the  same  deli- 
cate yet  noble  features,  the  same  eyes,  which  we  recognise 
at  once  as  the  clear  and  bright  index  of  a  beautiful  and 
unstained  soul. 

A  nd  neither  of  these  boys  has  failed  in  the  promise  of 
their  earlier  days,  and  the  warm  friendship  with  which  they 
regarded  each  other  has  clone  much  to  bring  about  this 
result.  Their  minds  are  well  cultivated,  their  bodies  are  in 
figorous  health,  their  hearts  are  glowing  with  generous 
impulse  and  warm  enthusiasm. 

Who  is  this  who  saunters  across  the  playground,  talking 
in  loud,  self-confident  tones  with  two  or  three  fellows  round 


KENKJCK.  271 

aim,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  air  haughty  ind  noncha- 
lant, and  his  cup  a  little  on  one  side  ?  He  is  still  pleasant 
looking,  his  luce  still  shows  the  capabilities  for  good  and 
great  things.  Keurick — for  it  is  he — is  altered  for  the 
worse.  Something  or  other  has  left,  in  its  traces  upon  his 
lace,  the  history  of  two  degenerate  years.  See  with  what 
a  careless,  almost  patronising  air,  he  barely  notices  the 
master,  who  is  passing  by  him.  He  has  just  flung  a  slight 
nod  to  Power,  studiously  taking  care  not  to  notice  Walter 
at  all.  Look,  too,  at  the  boys  who  are  with  him.  For 
during  the  last  two  years  Kenrick  has  entirely  lost  his 
balance  ;  he  has  deserted  his  best  friends  for  the  adula- 
tion of  younger  boys,  who  feed  his  vanity,  aud  the  society 
of  elder  boys,  who  pervert  his  thoughts  and  vitiate  his 
habits. 

Eden,  who  is  seated  reading  on  one  of  the  benches  by 
the  wall,  has  recovered  from  his  illness,  but  he  is  not,  aud 
never  will  be,  what,  but  for  Harpour's  brutality,  he  might 
have  been.  He  is  a  nervous,  timid,  intellectual  boy.  JS'u 
game,  unfortunately,  has  any  attraction  for  him.  The 
large  liquid  eyes,  swimming  sometimes  with  strange  lustre, 
and  often  varying  in  color,  the  delicate  flush  which  any 
pulse  of  emotion  drives  glowing  into  the  somewhat  pale 
face,  give  to  him  an  almost  girlish  aspect,  aud  tell  the  tale 
of  a  weakened  constitution.  Eden's  development  has  been 
quite  altered  by  his  fright  ;  most  of  the  vivacity  and  play- 
fulness of  his  character  has  vanished  ;  and  although  it 
flashes  out  with  pleasant  mirth  when  he  is  alone  with  hLs 
few  closest  friends,  such  as  Waiter  and  Power,  his  manner 
is,  for  the  most  part,  very  quiet  aud  reserved.  Yet  Eden 
has  a  position  of  his  own  in  the  school  ;  aud,  unobtrusive 
&s  he  is,  his  opiuion  is  always  listened  to  with  kindness  and 
respect. 

There  is  Harpour  playing  rackets,  and  he  is  playing  re> 


272  HARPOUK. 

markably  well.  He  is  now  nineteen,  and  a  personage  ot 
immense  importance  in  the  school,  for  he  is  head  of  the 
cricket  eleven,  Walter  being  head  of  the  football.  Har- 
pour  is  quite  unchanged,  and  if  he  was  doing  mischief  when 
we  knew  him  two  years  a£0,  he  is  doino-  twice  as  much 
mischief  now. 

He  is  just  now  stopping  for  a  minute  in  his  game  to  talk 
to  those  three  boys,  who  have  been  strutting  up  and  down 
the  court  arm  in  arm,  and  whom  we  easily  recognise.  The 
one  with  the  red  puffy  face,  with  an  enormous  gold  pin  in 
his  cravat,  a  bunch  of  charms  hanging  to  his  chain,  and  a 
ring  on  his  hand,  which  he  loses  no  opportunity  of  display- 
ing, is  our  friend  Jones,  with  vulgarity  as  usual  stamped 
on  every  feature,  and  displayed  in  every  movement  which 
he  makes  ;  the  tall,  slim  fellow,  with  an  air  of  feeble  fast- 
ness, an  indecisive  mouth,  a  habit  of  running  his  hand 
through  his  light-colored  hair,  and  a  gaze  which  usually 
settles  in  fixed  admiration  on  his  faultless  boots,  can  be 
no  one  but  Howard  Tracy  ;  the  third,  a  fellow  with  far 
more  meaning  and  strength  in  his  face,  betrays  himself  to 
be  Mackworth. 

And  there  at  last — I  thought  we  should  never  see  him — 
is  our  dear  young  joker  of  jokes,  the  same  unaltered  Flip 
whom  we  know,  running  down  the  school  steps.  His  face 
is  overflowing  with  mirth  and  fun,  and  now  he  is  stopping 
and  holding  both  his  sides  for  laughter,  while,  with  little 
touches  of  his  own,  he  retails  some  of  the  strange  blunders 
which  Bliss  has  made  in  the  examination  that  morning  ; 
to  which  his  friend  Whalley  listens  with  the  same  good- 
humored  smile  which  he  had  of  old.  Henderson  is  a  per- 
fect mimic,  but  never  uses  his  oowers  of  mimicry  in  an  ill- 
natured  spirit ;  and  his  imitation  of  Bliss's  stolid  perplexity 
and  Dr.  Lane's  comments  are  very  ludicrous.  While  he  is 
\u   the  middle  of  this  narrative,  Bliss  himself  appears  or 


ON    THE    SHORE.  273 

the  scene,  and  relieves  his  feelings  by  delivering  the  onlj 
pun  he  ever  made  in  his  life,  and  observing,  in  a  solemn 
tone  of  voice — 

"  Flip,  don't  be  flippant  ;"  a  remark  which  he  has  sub- 
stituted for  the  "  I'll  lick  you,  Flip"  of  old  days. 

"  You  dear  old  Blissidas,  I  think  I've  heard  that  pun 
once  or  twice  before,"  observes  llenderson,  calmly  pulling 
undone  the  bow  of  Bliss's  necktie,  and  running  off  to 
escape  retaliation,  followed  at  his  leisure  by  Whalley, 
who  knows  Bliss  to  be  much  too  lazy  to  pursue  the  chase 
very  far. 

Let  us  go  and  take  a  breath  of  delicious  pure  sea  air, 
and  seat  ourselves  by  Walter  and  Power  on  the  shore. 
Walter  is  in  good,  and  even  gay  spirits,  being  fresh  from 
Semlyii,  but  Power  seems  a  little  grave  and  depressed. 

"  Look,  Walter,"  he  says,  shying  a  round  stone  at  a  bit 
of  embedded  rock  about  twenty  yards  before  them,  but 
missing  it  ;  "I  believe  it  was  that  identical  rock  " 

"  That  identical  rock,"  said  Walter,  taking  a  better 
shot,  and  hitting  it  ;   "  well,  what  about  it  ?" 

"  On  which  you  were  standing  one  autumn  evening  three 
years  ago,  when  the  tide  was  coming  in  " 

"  And  to  save  me  wet  trousers  you  took  off  your  shoes 
and  stockings,  and  carried  me  in  on  your  back,"  said  Wal- 
ter. "  I  remember  it  well,  Rex  ;  it  was  a  happy  day  for 
me.  I  recollect  I'd  been  very  miserable  ;  it  was  after  the 
Patou  affair,  you  know,  and  every  one  was  cutting  me. 
Your  coming  to  speak  to  me  was  about  the  last  thing  in 
the  world  I  expected,  and  the  best  thing  I  could  have 
hoped.  I'd  often  wanted  to  know  you,  longed  to  have  you 
as  a  friend  ;  but  I  used  to  look  up  to  you  as  such  a  young 
swell  in  those  days  that  I  never  thought  we  should  meet 
each  other." 

"  Pooh  !"  said  Power  ;  "  but  wasn't  it  gx>d  now  of  me 

12* 


274  A    TALK. 

to  break  the  ice  and  speak  first  ?  I  declare,  I  think  Fv« 
never  done  it  with  any  one  else.  You'd  never  have  done 
it — now  confess  ?  Only  fancy,  we  mightn't  have  known 
eacn  other  to  this  clay." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  done  it  at  that  time,"  said  Walter, 

"  because  I  was  in  Coventry  ;  but well,  never  mind. 

Rex,  we  understand  each  other.  I  was  looking  at  some 
porpoises,  I  remember." 

"  Yes  ;  happy  days  they  were  after  that.  I  wish  the 
time  was  back  again  !  Fancy  you  a  monitor,  and  me  head 
of  the  school  !" 

"  Fancy  !  we've  got  up  the  school  so  much  faster  than 
we  used  to  expect." 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  wish  we  could  change  places,  and  you  be 
head,  and  I  sixth  monitor  as  you  are.  You'll  help  me, 
Walter,  won't  you  ?" 

"  You  don't  doubt  that,  Rex,  I'm  sure  ;  all  the  help  1 
can  give  is  yours." 

"  If  it  weren't  for  that  I  think  I  would  have  left,  Walter. 
I  don't  think  somehow  I've  influence  enough  for  head.  I'm 
not  swell  enough  at  the  games." 

"  You  play  though  now,  and  enjoy  them  ;  and  I  don't 
half  believe  you,  Rex,  when  you  talk  of  having  wished  to 
leave.  That  would  have  been  cowardice,  you  know,  and 
you're  not  the  boy  to  leave  your  post." 

"  Here  I  am  then  in  my  place,  armor  on,  visor  down, 
determined  not  to  fly,  like  the  Roman  soldier  whose  skele- 
ton was  found  in  the  sentry-box  at  Pompeii,"  said  Power, 
playfully  getting  up  and  assuming  a  military  attitude. 

"  And  here  am  I,"  said  Walter,  laughing,  as  he  stood 
beside  him  with  one  foot  advanced — "  I,  your  sixth  Hype- 
taspistes." 

"The  sixth  ! — the  first  you  mean,"  said  Power.  "The 
"our  monitors  between  you  and  me,  won't,  I  fear,  help  us 


l'KOSl'ECTS.  275 

jiuch.  Browne  is  very  short-sighted,  and  always  shutting 
up  with  a  head  ache  ;  Sinythe  is  a  lne.ve  book-worm,  and  a 
regular  butt  even  among  the  little  fellows — worse  than 
useless — no  dignity  or  anything  else  ;  Keurick — well,  you 
know  what  Ken  is  I" 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  Ken  is  now  ;  he's  our  chief  danger 
— a  doubtful  general  in  the  camp.  Hallo,  Flip,  you  here  V* 
said  he,  as  Henderson  came  up  and  joined  them. 

"  Myself,  0  Evides  ;  who's  the  doubtful  general  in  the 
camp  ? — not  I,  I  hope." 

"  You,  Flip  ?  no  ;  but  Kenrick.  We're  talking  about 
the  monitors." 

"  A  doubtful  general  ! — a  traitor,  you  mean,  an  enemy, 
a  spy,"  said  Henderson,  hotly. 

Power's  large  and  gentle  mind,  and  Walter's  generous 
temper,  prevented  them  from  joining  in  Henderson's 
strong  language  ;  but  they  felt  no  less  than  he  did  that, 
if  they  were  to  work  for  the  good  of  the  school,  Kenrick 
would  be  their  most  dangerous,  though  not  their  declared, 
opponent. 

"  1  foresee  storms  ahead,"  said  Power,  with  a  sigh. 
"  Flip,  you  must  stand  by  me  as  well  as  Walter." 

"  Never  fear,"  said  Henderson  ;  "but  remember  I'm 
only  the  junior  monitor  of  the  lot,  aud  I'm  so  quick-tem- 
pered, I'm  always  afraid  of  stirring  up  a  commotion  some 
day  with  the  Harpoons" — as  Henderson  had  christened 
the  Harpour  lot. 

"  You  must  be  like  the  lightning-kite  then,"  said  Power, 
"  and  turn  the  flash  away  from  us." 

"  And  dash  the  beauteous  terror  to  the  ground, 
Smiling  majestic  " — 

observed  Henderson,  parodying  the  gesture,  and  making 
the  others  laugh. 


^7t>  FKIENDS    AiND    FOES. 

"  Do  you  remember  Somers,  and  Dimock,  and  Dun 
vers  ?  what  big  fellows  the  monitors  used  to  be  then  P 
said  Power. 

"  And  do  you  remember  certain  boys  whom  Somers,  ant 
Dimock,  and  Danvers  praised  on  a  certain  occasion  ?"  said 
Walter.  "  Come,  Rex,  don't  despoud.  We  weren't  afraid 
then,  why  should  we  be  now  ?" 

"  But  then  they  had  Macon,  and  fellows  like  that,  to 
uphold  them  in  the  school." 

"  So  have  we,"  said  Henderson  ;  "  first  and  foremost 
Whalley,  who's  now  got  his  remove  into  the  upper  sixth  ; 
then  there's  dear  old  Blissadas,  who  has  arms  if  he  hasn't 
got  brains,  and  who  is  as  staunch  as  a  rock  ;  and  beet  of 
all  perhaps,  there's  Franklin,  second  in  both  elevens,  brave 
as  a  lion,  strong  as  a  bull.  By-the-by,  Mil  have  a  lightning- 
kite  ready  made  for  you  no  doubt  ;  he's  accustomed  to  the 
experiment." 

"  Why,  Flip,  you  talk  as  if  we  were  going  to  have  a 
pitched  battle,"  said  Power,  ignoring  his  joke  about  Frank 
lin. 

"So  we  are — practically  and  morally.  Look  out  for 
skirmishes  from  the  Haroour  lot." 

A 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Flip  ?"  asked  Walter,  laughing. 

"  Mean  1  nothing  at  all — only  Tracy,  Jones,  and  Mack- 
worth." 

"  I'll  tell  you  of  two  more  who  won't  let  the  school  over- 
ride us  if  they  can  help  it,"  said  Walter  ;  "  Oradock  and 
Eden." 

"  Poor  Eden,  he  can't  do  much  for  us  except  look  od 
with  large  troubled  eyes." 

"  Can't  he  though,  Flip  ?  he's  got  a  good  deal  of 
power." 

"  He's  got  a  great  deal  of  good  from  Power,  I  know 
but " 


EVSOM    8EOUNDU8.  277 

"  But  don't  be  a  donkey,  Flip." 

"  Do  shut  up.  Why  should  you  two  expect  such  a  dead 
assault  on  the  monitors  this  half?"  said  Power. 

"  Why,  the  fifth  has  in  it  a  more  turbulent  lot  just  now 
than  I  ever  knew  before  ;  big  impudent  fellows,  with  no 
good  in  them,  and  quite  at  the  beck  of  the  Harpour  set,' 
said  Walter. 

"  Yes.  and  with  that  fellow  Kenrick,"  said  Heudersoa  ; 
"  he  and  Harpour  have  always  been  at  mischief  about  the 
monitors  since  they  caught  it  so  tremendously  from  Somers. 
Well,  never  mind.  Why,  look,  there's  Paradise,  taking 
charge  as  usual  of  a  little  new  fellow  ;  who  is  it  ?" 

"  Look  and  see,"  said  Walter,  as  a  little  fellow  came  up, 
with  an  unmistakable  family  resemblance — a  pretty  boy, 
with  fresh  round  cheeks,  and  light  hair,  which  shone  like 
gold  when  the  sunshine  fell  upon  it. 

"  Why,  Walter — why,  this  must  be  your  brother.  Well, 
I  declare  I  Just  what  you  were  the  day  you  came,  and 
made  Jones  look  so  small  three  years  ago.  How  do  you 
do  young  'uu  ?"  He  shook  him  kindly  by  the  hand  and 
said,  "  You're  a  lucky  little  fellow  to  have  a  monitor 
brother,  and  Eden  to  look  after  you  from  the  first.  I  wish 
Vd  been  so  lucky,  I  know." 

"  Oli,  Walter,  what  &  jolly  place  this  is,"  said  his  little 
brother — "jollier  than  Semlyu  even." 

"  Wait  a  bit,  Charlie  ;  don't  make  up  your  mind  too 
Boon,"  said  Walter  ;  while  Edeu  looked  at  the  boy  with  a 
somewhat  sad  smile  playing  on  his  lips. 


CHAPTER   THE   THIRTY-FIRST. 

AMONG    THE    NO  ELITES. 

THE  changes  described  in  the  last  chapter  were  not  tti€ 
only  ones  which  seriously  affected  the  prosperity  of 
St.  Winifred's  school  ;  for  the  staff  of  masters  was 
also  partly  altered  during  the  last  two  years,  and  the  altera- 
tions had  not  been  improvements.  Mr.  Paton — who  had 
by  this  time  manfully  resumed  his  old  theological  labors, 
and  who,  to  please  Walter,  had  often  employed  him  as  a 
willing  amanuensis  in  attempting  to  replace  the  burnt  man- 
uscripts— had  retired  from  his  mastership  to  a  quiet  coun- 
try living  to  which  he  had  been  presented  by  Sir  Lawrence 
Power.  Strange  at  it  may  seem,  Mr.  Paton  chiefly,  though 
of  course  indirectly,  owed  this  living  to  Walter,  who  had 
first  talked  to  Sir  Lawrence  about  Mr.  Paton,  in  terms  of 
deep  regard.  The  opportunity,  therefore,  which  Walter 
had  sought  so  earnestly  of  atoning  in  some  way  for  the 
mischief  which  he  had  done  to  his  old  master,  was  amply 
granted  to  him  ;  and  Mr.  Paton  never  felt  more  strongly, 
that  even  out  of  the  deepest  apparent  evils  God  can  bring 
about  undoubted  blessings.  St.  Winifred's,  however,  was 
the  loser  by  his  promotion.  The  benefit  of  his  impartial 
justice  and  stern  discipline,  and  the  weight  of  his  firm  and 
manly  character  in  the  councils  of  the  school,  was  gone 
And  St.  Winifred's  had  suffered  still  greater  loss  in  the 
departure  of  Mr.  Percival,  who  had  accepted,  some  months 
before,  the  offer  of  a  tutorship  in  his  own  university.  Had 
he  continued  where  he  was,  his  influence,  his  well-deserved 
popular*'  ly,  his  kind,  wise,  conciliatory  manner,  the  grati 

27S 


A    NEW    MASTER. 


279 


tnde  which  rewarded  his  ready  and  self-denying  sympathy, 
would,  in  the  troubled  period  which  ensued,  have  been  even 
more  useful  than  his  brilliant  scholarship  and  successful 
method  of  teaching  a  form.  These  two  masters  had  left 
amid  the  universal  regret  of  the  boys  and  of  their  col- 
leagues, and  their  places  had  been  filled  up  by  younger,  less 
able,  and  less  experienced  men. 

And  more  than  this,  Dr.  Lane,  soon  after  the  term  began, 
was  taken  seriously  ill,  and  was  ordered  to  the  German 
baths  for  two  months,  during  which  his  work  was  done  by 
another  master,  who  had  not  the  same  influence.  From  all 
which  causes,  this  half  year  at  St.  Winifred's  was  the  most 
turbulent,  the  most  riotous,  and  the  most  unhappy  ever 
known  in  that  honorable  and  ancient  school. 

So  little  Charlie  Evson  soon  found  reason  to  revise  and 
modify  his  opinions,  that  St.  Winifred's — as  he  then  saw  it — 
was  jollier  than  even  Seralyn  itself.     His  name  had  been 
entered  in  the  list  of  Mr.  Percival's  house,  before  it  was 
known  that  he  was  going  to  leave.     Walter  liked  Mr.  Per- 
cival  so  much  better  than  he  did  his  own  tutor,  Mr.  Rob 
ertson,  and  had  experienced  from  him  so  much  more  kind- 
ness, that  he  thought  it  would  be  an  advantage  for  Charlio 
to  be  placed  directly  under  so  wise  and  kind  a  friend  ;  and 
Mr.  Evson,  afraid  that  his  little  son  would  be  quite  over- 
shadowed by  his  elder  brother,  and  that  Walter's  influence, 
which  was  very  transcendent  over  Charlie's   mind,  would 
make  him  too  dependent  on  anothei",  and  prevent  him  from 
developing  his  own  natural  character,  was  by  no  means 
averse  to  the  arrangement.     But  since  Mr.  Percival  had 
left,  Charlie,  with  the  other  boys  in  the  house,  was  handed 
over  to  the  charge  of  Mr.  Noel,  a  new  master,  who  had  to 
win  his  way  and  learn  his  work,  neither  of  which  he  sue 
ceeded  in  doing  until  he  had  committed  many  mistakes. 
In  this  house  were  Kenriek  and  Mackworth — Kenrick 


380  WILTON. 

as  monitor,  was  in  some  measure  responsible  for  the  charac- 
ter of  the  house,  and  he  had  Charlie  as  one  cf  his  fags.  A< 
this  time  Kenrick's  influence  was  not  only  useless  for  good, 
but  was  even  positively  bad.  There  was  no  other  monitoi 
who  did  not  try  to  be  of  some  use  to  his  fags.  Many  of  the 
monitors,  by  quiet  kindnesses  and  useful  hints,  by  judicious 
help  and  unselfish  sympathy,  were  of  most  real  service  to 
the  boys  who  nominally  "  fagged "  for  them,  but  who,  in 
point  of  fact,  were  required  to  do  nothing,  except  taking  an 
occasional  message,  seeing  that  the  study  fires  did  not  go 
out,  and  carrying  up  the  tea  and  breakfast  for  a  week  each, 
in  order  of  rotation. 

Kenrick  was  quite  willing  to  have  placed  Charlie  Evson 
in  the  first  of  these  classes,  for  he  was  a  boy  whom  it  was 
impossible  to  see  and  not  to  like.  But  Kenrick  had  better 
reasons  for  wishing  to  attach  Charlie  to  himself.  Deeply 
as  he  had  degenerated,  disgraceful  as  his  present  conduct 
was,  Kenrick,  in  the  secret  depths  of  his  soul,  sighed  and 
pined  for  better  things  ;  though  vice,  and  folly,  and  pride 
had  their  attractions  for  him,  he  was  still  sick  at  heart  for 
the  purer  atmosphere  which  he  had  left.  He  looked  at 
Charlie  with  vague  hope,  for  through  him  he  thought  that 
he  might  yet  perhaps,  without  lowering  his  pride  by  actu- 
ally seeming  to  have  made  any  advance,  bring  about  a 
reconciliation  with  his  best  and  earliest  friends,  bring  about 
a  return  to  his  former  and  more  upright  course. 

But  this  was  not  to  be.  When  a  boy  goes  wrong,  he 
strews  every  step  of  his  downward  career  with  obstacles 
against  his  own  return  ;  and  he  little  dreams  how  difficult 
of  removal  some  of  these  obstacles  will  be.  The  obstacle 
in  this  case  was  another  little  fag  of  Kenrick's  named  Wil 
ton.  I  am  sorry  to  write  of  that  boy.  Young  in  years, 
he  was  singularly  old  in  vice.  A  more  brazen,  a  more  im- 
pudent a  more  hardened  little  scapegrace — in  schoolboy 


BAD    KXAMPLK8.  281 

language,  "  a  cooler  hand  " — it  would  have  been  impossible 
to  find.  He  had  early  gained  the  nickname  of  Raven  from 
his  artful  looks.  His  manner  was  a  mixture  of  calm  an 
dacity  and  consummate  self-conceit.  Though  you  knew 
him  to  be  a  thorough  scamp,  the  young  imp  would  stare 
you  in  the  face  with  the  effrontery  of  a  man  about  town 
He  was  active,  sharp,  and  nice-looking,  and  there  was 
nothing  which  he  was  either  afraid  or  ashamed  to  do.  He 
had  not  a  particle  of  that  modesty  which  in  every  good  hoy 
is  as  natural  as  it  is  graceful.  He  could  tell  a  lie  without 
the  slightest  hesitation  or  the  faintest  blush  ;  nay,  while  he 
was  telling  it,  though  lie  knew  that  yon  knew  it  to  be  a  lie, 
would  not  abash  for  an  instant  the  cold  glance  of  his 
wicked  dark  eyes.  Yet  this  boy,  like  Charlie,  was  only 
thirteen  years  old.  And  for  all  these  reasons,  Wilton  was 
the  idol  of  all  the  big  bad  boys  in  the  school ;  and  in  spite 
of  all  these  reasons — for  the  boy  had  in  him  the  fascina- 
tion of  a  serpent — he  was  the  declared  favorite  of  Kenrick 
too. 

The  three  boys  who  gave  the  tone  to  Mr.  Noel's  house 
were  Kenrick,  Mackworth,  and  Wilton.  They  formed  as  it 
were  an  electric  chain  of  bad  influences,  and  as  they  were 
severally  prominent  in  the  chief  divisions  of  the  school, 
they  had  peculiar  opportunities  for  doing  harm.  Kenriek's 
evil  example  told  with  extraordinary  power  through  the 
whole  house,  and  especially  upon  the  highest  boys,  who  na- 
turally imitated  him.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Kenrick 
had  sunk  so  low  that  wilfully  and  consciously  he  loweied 
the  character  of  the  house,  which  as  a  monitor  he  ought  to 
have  improved  and  raised  ;  but  he  did  so,  whether  \uth 
intention  or  not;  he  did  so  negatively,  by  neglecting  all  his 
duties,  and  by  giving  no  direct  countenance  to  what  was 
right;  he  did  so  positively,  by  not  openly  discountenancing, 
and  by  actually  practising,  many  things  which  he  knew  to 


282  DEGENERACY. 

be  wrong.  The  bad  work  was  carried  on  by  Mackworth 
who  was  the  most  prominent  fifth-form  boy  in  the  house. 
This  boy's  ability,  and  strength  of  will,  and  keenness  of 
tongue,  gave  him  immense  authority,  and  enabled  him  to 
carry  out  almost  everything  he  liked.  To  complete  the 
mischief,  among  the  lower  boys  Wilton  reigned  supreme  ; 
and  as  Wilton  was  prouder  of  Kenrick's  patronage  than  of 
anything  else,  and  by  flattery  and  cajolery  could  win  over 
Kenrick  to  nearly  anything,  the  worst  part  of  the  charac- 
ters of  these  boys  acting  and  reacting  on  each  other,  leav- 
ened the  house  through  and  through  with  all  that  is  least 
good,  or  true,  or  lovely,  or  of  a  good  report.  The  mischief 
began  before  Mr.  Percival  left,  but  it  never  could  have 
proceeded  half  so  far  if  Mr.  Noel's  inexperience,  and  the 
very  kindness  which  led  him  to  relax  the  existing  discipline, 
had  not  tempted  the  boys  to  unwonted  presumption. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  when  Charlie  entered  Mr. 
Noel's  house.  Walter  knew  that  Mr.  Percival's  promotion 
had  frustrated  the  plan  he  had  formed  when  he  advised  his 
father  to  put  Charlie  in  that  house,  but  the  step  could  not 
now  be  recalled,  nor,  indeed,  was  Walter  or  any  other  mon- 
itor aware  how  bad  the  state  of  things  had  become.  For 
among  other  dangerous  innovations,  Mackworth  and  Wil- 
ton had  brought  about  a  kind  of  understanding,  that  the 
.louse  should,  to  some  extent,  keep  to  itself,  resent  all  in- 
trusion into  its  own  precincts,  and  maintain  a  profound 
silence  about  its  own  secrets.  Besides  all  this,  Walter 
bitterly  and  sorrowfully  felt  that  for  some  reason,  which 
he  was  unable  to  fathom,  the  whole  school  was  just  then  in 
an  unsatisfactory  state,  and  that  Charlie,  for  whom  his 
whole  heart  yearned  with  brotherly  love  and  pity,  would  be 
exposed  to  severe  temptations  in  whatever  house  he  should 
be  placed.  He  hoped  too  that,  as  Charlie  would  always 
oave  the  run  of  his  and  of  Power's  study,  it  would  make 


NEW    FELLOWS.  2S3 

little  difference  to  him  that  he  was  under  a  different  house 
master. 

To  Mackworth  and  Wilton  the  arrival  of  one  ot  two  new 
boys  was  a  matter  of  some  importance,  but  little  anxiety 
The  new  boys  were  necessarily  young,  and  in  the  present 
united  state  of  the  house,  it  was  tolerably  certain  that  they 
would  catch  the  prevalent  spirit,  and  be  quickly  assimilated 
to  the  condition  of  the  others.  The  task  of  moulding  them 
— if  they  were  at  all  difficult  to  manage — fell  to  Wilton, 
and  he  certainly  accomplished  it  with  astonishing  success. 
A  new  comer's  sensibilities  were  not  too  quickly  shocked. 
The  Noelites,  for  their  own  purposes,  behaved  very  kindly 
to  him  at  first ;  they  were  first-rate  hands  at  "  destroyiug 
a  boy  by  means  of  his  best  affections,"  at  "  seething  a  kid 
in  its  mother's  milk."  The  bad  language,  the  school  trick- 
eries and  deceits,  the  dodges  for  breaking  rules  and  escap- 
ing punishments,  the  agreed-on  lies  to  avoid  detectiou,  the 
suppers,  and  brandy,  and  smoking  parties,  and  false  keys 
to  get  out  after  lock  up,  and  all  the  other  detestable  symp- 
toms of  a  vitiated  and  depraved  set,  were  carefully  kept  in 
abeyance  at  first.  The  new  fallow  was  treated  very  kindly, 
was  sounded  and  fathomed  cautiously,  was  taught  to  get 
up  a  strong  house  feeling  by  perpetual  endeavors  to  wake 
in  him  the  esprit  de  corps,  was  gently  ridiculed  if  he  dis- 
played any  good  principle,  was  tremendously  bullied  if  he 
showed  signs  of  recalcitrance,  was  according  to  his  temper- 
ament led,  or  coaxed,  or  initiated,  or  intimidated,  into  the 
condition  of  wickedness  required  of  him  before  the  house 
could  continue  to  go  to  the  devil,  as  fast  as  it  wished  to  do, 
and  was  doing  before.  This  was  Mackworth's  work,  and 
Wilton  acted  as  his  Azazel,  and  Kenrick  did  not  interfere 
though  he  knew  or  guessed  all  that  was  going  on  :  he  did 
jot  interfere,  he  did  not  prevent  it,  he  did  not  even  remon- 
strate at  first,  and  afterwards  he  began  by  acquiescing,  he 


281  NEW   BOYS. 

ended  by — yes,  the  truth  must  be  told — he  ended  by  join- 
ing in  it  all.  0  Kenrick,  when  human  beings  meet  lace  to 
face  before  a  certain  judgment-seat,  there  are  some  youn<T 
souls  who  will  have  a  bill  of  indictment  against  you  ;  the 
same  who  may  point  to  Mackworth  or  to  Wilton,  and  say, 
as  of  old,  "  The  serpent  beguiled  me,  and  I  did  eat." 

Five  new  boys  had  come  this  half-year.  Four  of  them 
had  been  sounded  by  the  rest  of  the  house  ;  one  of  them, 
named  Stone,  had  come  from  a  large  private  school,  and 
was  prepared  for  whatever  he  might  find  in  more  senses 
than  one.  Another,  Symes,  was  a  boy  ill-trained  at  home, 
of  no  particular  principles,  and  quite  ready  to  flow  with 
the  stream.  A  third,  Hanley,  had  come  meaning  to  be 
good  ;  he  had  been  shocked  when  he  first  heard  oaths,  and 
when  he  was  first  asked  if  he  would  mind  telling  any  of  the 
regular  lies — "  crams"  the  boys  called  them — in  the  event 
of  any  master  questioning  him  ;  but  his  wounded  sensibili- 
ties were  very  quickly  healed,  and  he  had  passed  with  fatal 
facility  from  disgust  to  indifference,  from  iudifference  to 
toleration.  The  fourth,  Elgood,  was  a  timid  child,  for 
whom  no  one  cared  either  way,  and  whom  they  took  care 
to  frighten  into  promising  to  do  whatever  he  was  ordered. 
A  terrible  st&te  of  things — was  it  not  ?  But,  ah  me  !  it 
was  so  once  upon  a  time.  The  fifth  new  boy  in  Mr.  Noel's 
tiouse  was  Charles  Evson  ;  and  with  this  fifth  new  boy  the 
devil's  agents  knew  instinctively  that  they  would  have  a 
great  deal  of  trouble.  But  they  meant  to  bate  their  hook 
very  carefully,  and  they  did  not  at  all  despair.  Their  task 
was  made  peculiarly  piquant  by  its  very  difficulty,  and  by 
the  fact  that  Charlie  was  one  in  whom  their  declared  ene- 
my, Walter  Evson,  was  so  nearly  concerned.  They  were 
determined  by  fair  means  or  foul  to  win  him  over,  and 
make  him  their  proselyte,  until  he  became  as  much  a  child 
of  sin  as  they  were  themselves.     But  they  proceeded  to 


HOW    THEY    ARE   TlEATED.  285 

their  task  with  the  utmost  caution,  and  endeavored  to 
charm  Charlie  over  to  their  views  bv  showing;  him  a;reat 
attention,  by  trying  to  make  tilings  pleasant  for  him,  by 
flattering  him  with  notice,  and  seeming  to  welcome  him 
cordially  as  one  of  themselves.  Their  dissimulation  was 
profound  ;  at  first  the  new  boy  found  everything  quite  de- 
lightful, and  before  a  week  was  over  had  caught,  as  they 
meant  him  to  atch,  the  spirit  of  party,  and  always  was 
ready  to  stick  up  for  the  Noelites  as  the  best  house  in  the 
school.  So  far  so  good  ;  but  this  was  only  the  first  step  of 
initiation  into  these  Eleusiniau  mysteries. 

Ho  Master  Wilton — Belial  junior,  as  Henderson  always 
called  him — ingratiated  himself  into  Charlie's  favor,  and 
tried,  not  without  success,  to  make  himself  peculiarly  agree- 
ablB.  At  first  sight,  indeed,  Charlie  felt  an  inward  repul- 
sion to  him.  He  did  not  know  why  he  did,  for,  so  far 
from  there  being  anything  obviously  repulsive  in  Wilton's 
look  or  manners,  there  were  many  who  thought  him  the 
picture  of  innocence,  and  considered  his  manners  quite  per- 
fection in  their  politeness  and  good  breeding.  Charlie 
therefore  instantly  conquered  his  first  feeling  of  dislike  as 
uncharitable  and  groundless  ;  and  as  Wilton  seemed  to  lay 
himself  out  for  his  friendship,  he  wa.s  ofteuer  with  him  dur- 
ing the  first  fortnight  than  with  any  other  boy.  It  was 
strange  to  see  the  two  together,  so.  utterly  different  were 
they  in  every  respect,  and  so  great  was  the  contrast  of 
Charlie's  sweet,  bright,  modest  face,  with  the  indescribable 
dangerous  coolness  of  Wilton's  knowing  smile. 

"  Look,''  said  Henderson  to  Whalley,  as  he  saw  them 
together  one  day  in  the  playground  ;  "  there  go  Ithnrio] 
and  Belial  junior,  very  thick  at  uresent." 

"  Yes  ;  I  don't  like  to  see  it.  I  don't  hear  any  good  01 
that  fellow  Wilton." 

"  Good  !    I  should  rather  think  no' ." 


280  WEARING    A    MASK. 

"  Give  young  Evson  a  hint,  Flip,  will  you,  that  Wilton's 
not  a  good  friend  for  him.  He  looks  a  nice  little  fellow, 
and  I  don't  like  to  tell  him,  because  I  don't  know  him." 

"  Never  fear  ;  when  Charlie  touches  him  with  his  spear. 
or  sees  him  light  ou  the  top  of  Niphates — one  of  which 
things  will  happen  soon  enough — he'll  not  be  slow  to  dis- 
cover who  he  is.  If  not,  I'll  tell  Walter,  and  he  shall  be 
Charlie's  Uriel." 

"  Touches  him  with  his  spear  ! — what  spear  ? — top  of 
Niphates  ! — Uriel  !"  said  Whalley,  with  ludicrous  astonish 
ment  :  "  here,  Power,  you're  just  in  time  to  help  me  put  a 
strait-waistcoat  on  Flip.  He  says  that  when  Wilton  lights 
ou  the  top  of  Niphates,  which  lie  will  do  soon,  young 
Evson  will  discover  that  he's  a  scamp.  What  does  it  all 
mean  ?" 

"  It  only  means  that  Flip  and  I  have  been  reading  the 
Paradise  Lost,"  said  Power,  laughing,  "  and  at  present 
Flip's  mind  is  a  Miltonic  conglomerate."  And  he  pro- 
ceeded to  explain  to  Whalley  that  Ithuriel  was  one  of  the 
cherubs  who  guarded  Eden 

("  Only  that  in  this  case  Eden  guards  the  cherub,"  ob- 
served Henderson,  parenthetically.) 

"  — and  who,  by  touching  Satan  with  his  spear,  made  hi  in 
bound  up  in  his  original  shape,  when  he  sat  like  a  toad 
squat  at  the  ear  of  Eve  ;  and,  moreover,  that  Uriel  had 
recognised  Satan  through  his  mask,  when,  lighting  on  Ni- 
phates, his  looks  became 

'  Alien  from  heaven,  with  passions  foul  obscured.'  " 

"  Seriously  though,"  said  Henderson,  "  Uriel  must  be 
asleep,  or  he  wouldn't  let  his  little  brother  get  under  Be- 
lial's wings." 

In  fact,  Wilton  was  forced  to  keep  du  the  mask  much 
'onger  than  he  had  ever  meant  to  do.     He  could  find  nc 


MEMORY .  28'« 

joint  in  Charlies  armor.  Tiie  boy  was  so  thoroughly 
manly,  so  simple-hearted,  so  trustful  and  iiuioceut,  that 
Wilton  could  make  nothing-  of  hira.  If  he  tried  to  indoc- 
trinate Charlie  into  the  state  of  morality  among  the  Noel- 
ites,  either  Charlie  did  not  understand  him,  or  else  quite 
openly  expressed  his  disapproval  and  even  indignation  ;  and 
when  finally  Wilton,  quite  tired  out,  did  throw  off  the 
mask,  Charlie  shook  him  away  from  him,  turned  with  a 
sickening  sensation  from  the  unbared  features  of  vice,  and 
unfeigned ly  loathed  the  boy  who  had  pretended  to  be  his 
friend — loathed  him  all  the  more  because  he  had  tried  to 
like  him,  but  now  saw  the  snare  which  was  being  spread 
in  his  sight. 

Every  now  and  then  during  their  early  intercourse, 
Charlie  had  felt  a  certain  restraint  in  talking  to  Wilton  : 
he  could  not  be  at  ease  with  him  though  he  tried.  He 
caught  the  gleam  of  the  snake  through  the  flowers  that 
only  half  concealed  his  folds.  And  Wilton,  too,  had  got 
very  tired  of  playing  a  part.  He  could  not  help  his  real 
wickedness  cropping  out  now  and  then,  yet  whenever  it 
did,  Charlie  started  in  such  a  way  that  even  Wilton  was 
ashamed  ;  and  though  generally  the  shafts  of  conscience 
glanced  off  from  the  panoply  of  steel  and  ice  which  cased 
this  boy's  heart,  yet  during  these  days  they  once  or  twice 
reached  the  mark,  and  made  him  smart  with  long-unwonted 
anguish.  He  was  conscious  that  he  was  doing  the  devil's 
work,  and  doing  it  for  very  poor  wages.  He  felt  now  and 
then  Charlie's  immense  superiority  to  himself,  and,  in  a 
mood  of  pity,  when,  as  they  were  standing  one  day  in 
Mr.  Noel's  private  room  to  say  a  lesson,  he  caught  sight  of 
their  two  selves  reflected  in  the  looking-glass  over  the 
mantel-piece,  and  realised  the  immense  gulf  which  separated 
them — a  gulf  not  of  void  chaos  and  flaming  space,  but  the 
deeper  gulf  of  warped  affections  and  sinful  thoughts — he 


288  KEMOKSE. 

had  felt  a  sudtleu  longing  to  be  other  than  what  he  was,  io 
have  Charlie  for  a  true  friend,  to  give  up  trying  to  make 
him  a  bad  boy,  and  to  fall  at  his  feet  and  ask  Ms  pardon. 
And  when  he  had  doggedly  failed  in  his  lesson,  and  got  his 
customary  bad  mark,  and  customary  punishment,  and  re- 
ceived his  customary  objurgation,  that  he  was  getting  worse 
and  worse,  and  that  his  time  was  utterly  wasted — and  when 
he  saw  the  master's  face  light  up  with  a  pleased  expression 
as  Charlie  went  cheerfully  aud  faultlessly  through  his  work 
— a  sudden  paroxysm  of  penitence  seized  Wilton,  and,  once 
out  of  the  room,  he  left  Charlie  aud  ran  up  the  stairs  to 
Kenrick's  study,  in  which  he  was  allowed  to  sit  whenever 
he  liked.  No  one  was  there,  and  throwing  himself  into  a 
cha.ir,  Wiltou  covered  his  face  with  both  hands,  and  burst 
into  passionate  tears.  A  long  train  of  thoughts  and  mem- 
ories passed  through  his  mind — memories  of  his  own  head- 
long fall  to  what  he  was,  memories  of  younger  and  of 
innocent  days,  memories  of  a  father,  now  dead,  who  had 
often  set  him  on  his  knee,  and  prayed,  before  all  other 
things,  that  he  might  grow  up  a  good  and  truthful  boy, 
and  with  uo  stain  upon  his  name.  But  while  memory 
whispered  of  past  innocence,  conscience  told  him  of  present 
guilt ;  told  him  that  if  his  father  could  have  foreseen  what 
he  would  become,  his  heart  would  have  broken  ;  told  him, 
and  he  knew  it,  that  his  name  was  a  proverb  and  a  by-word 
in  the  school.  But  the  prominent  and  the  recurring  thought 
was  ever  this — "  Is  it  too  late  to  mend  ?  is  the  door  shut 
against  me  ?"  For  Wilton  remembered  how  once  before 
his  mind  was  harrowed  by  fear  and  guilt  as  he  had  listened 
to  Mr.  PercivaFs  parting  sermon  on  that  sad  text — one 
of  the  saddest  in  all  the  Holy  Book — "  And  the  door  was 
*hut." 

Suddenly  he  was  startled  violently  from  his  reverie,  for 
the  door  was  shut  with  a  barg,  and  Kenrick,  entering 


BATH    KOL.  28£ 

flung  himself  in  a  chair,  saying,  with  a  vexed  expression  of 
voice,  "Too  late." 

It  was  but  a  set  of  verses  which  Kenrick  had  written  for 
a  prize  exercise,  and  which  he  had  just  sent  in  too  late. 
Lie  had  not  lost  all  ambition,  but  he  had  no  real  friend  now 
to  inspirit  or  stimulate  him,  so  that  he  ofteu  procrastinated, 
and  was  seldom  successful  with  anything. 

But  his  accidental  words  fell  with  awful  lneanino;  and 
strange  emphasis  on  poor  Wilton's  ear.  Wilton  had  never 
heard  of  the  Bath  Kol,  he  knew  nothing  of  the  power  that 
wields  the  tongue  amid  the  chances  of  destiny  ;  but  fear 
made  him  superstitious,  and,  forgetting  his  usual  dissimu* 
lation,  he  looked  up  at  Kenrick  aghast,  without  wiping 
away  the  traces  which  unwonted  tears  had  left  upon  his 
face. 

"  Why,  Raven,  boy,  what's  the  matter  ?"  asked  Ken- 
rick, looking  at  him  with  astonishment  ;  "  much  you,  care 
for  my  having  a  set  of  iambics  too  late." 

"  Oil,  is  that  all  V  asked  Wilton,  still  looking  frightened 

"  All  ?  Yes  ;  and  enough,  too,  for  me.  But " — stop- 
ping suddenly — "  why,  Raven,  what's  the  row  ?  You've 
been  crying,  by  all  that's  odd  !  Why,  I  didn't  know  you'd 
ever  shed  a  tear  since  you'd  been  in  the  cradle.  Raven 
crying — what  a  notion  1     Crocodile  tears,  eh  ?" 

Wilton  was  ashamed  to  have  been  caught  crying,  and 
angry  to  be  laughed  at.  He  was  leaving  the  room  silently 
and  iu  a  pet,  when  Kenrick  caught  him,  and,  looking  at 
eim,  said  in  a  kindlier  tone — 

"  Nonsense,  Ra  ;  don't  mind  a  little  chaff.  What's  hap- 
pened ?     Nothing  serious,  I  hope." 

But  Wilton  was  angry  and  miserable  just  then,  and 
struggled  to  get  free.  He  did  not  venture  to  tell  Kenrick 
what  had  really  been  passing  through  his  miud.  "  I>t  me 
o'o,"  he  said,  struggling  to  get  free. 

13 


2^0  KENKICK    AND   WILTON. 

"  Ob,  go  by  all  means,"  said  Kenrick,  with  bis  pride  all 
on  fire  in  a  moment ;  "  don't  suppose  that  I  want  you  or 
care  for  you  :"  and  he  turned  bis  back  on  Wilton,  to  whom 
he  bad  never  once  spoken  harshly  before. 

The  current  of  Wilton's  thoughts  was  turned  he  really 
loved  Kenrick,  who  was  the  only  person  for  wlorn  he  had 
any  regard  at  all.  Besides,  Keurick's  support  and  favor 
were  everything  to  him  just  then,  and  he  stopped  irresolutely 
at  the  door,  unwilling  to  leave  him  in  anger. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  Why  don't  you  go  ?"  asked 
Kenrick,  with  his  back  still  turned. 

Wilton  came  back  to  the  window,  and  humbly  took  Ken- 
rick's  hand,  looking  up  at  him  as  though  to  ask  forgiveness. 

"  How  odd  you  are  to-day,  Raven,"  said  Kenrick,  re- 
lenting.    "  What  were  you  crying  about  when  I  came  in  ?" 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Ken.  I  was  thinking  bow  much 
better  some  fellows  are  than  I  am,  and  whether  it  was  too 
late  to  begin  afresh,  and  whether  the  door  was  open  to  me 
still,  when  you  came  in,  and  said,  '  Too  late,'  and  banged 
the  door,  which  I  took  for  an  answer  to  my  thoughts." 

They  were  the  first  serious  words  Kenrick  had  ever  heard 
from  Wilton  ;  but  he  did  not  choose  to  heed  them,  and  only 
said,  after  a  pause— 

"  Other  fellows  better  than  you  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Less 
plucky,  perhaps  ;  greater  hypocrites,  certainly  ;  but  you 
are  the  jolliest  of  them  all,  Ra." 

And  with  that  silly,  silly  speech  Wilton  was  reassured 
a  gratified  smile  perched  itself  upon  his  lips,  and  his  cyea 
sparkled  with  delight ;  nor  was  he  soon  revisited  by  any 
qualms  of  conscience. 


CHAPTER  THE   THIRTY-SECOND. 

DISENCHANTMENT. 

HO  W  do  you  get  on  with  the  young  Evson,  Ra  ?"  asked 
Mackworth  of  Wilton,  with  a  sneer. 
"Not  at  all,"  said  Wilton.     "He's  awfully  par- 
iicular  and  straight-laced,  just  like  that  brother  of  his.    No 
more  fun  while  he's  in  the  house." 

"  Confound  him,"  said  Mackworth,  frowning  darkly;  "  if 
he  doesn't  like  what  he  sees,  he  must  lump  it.  He's  not 
worth  any  more  trouble." 

"  So,  Mack,  yon,  too,  have  discovered  what  he's  like." 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  answered  Mackworth,  savagely.  For 
all  his  polish,  his  courtesies,  and  civilities  had  not  suc- 
ceeded in  making  Charlie  conceal  how  much  he  feared  and 
disliked  him.  The  young  horse  rears  the  first  time  it  hears 
the  adder's  hiss,  and  the  dove's  eye  trembles  instinctively 
when  the  hawk  is  near.  Charlie  half  knew  and  half  guessed 
the  kind  of  character  he  had  to  deal  with,  and  made  Mack- 
worth hate  him  with  deadly  hatred  by  the  way  in  which, 
without  one  particle  of  rudeness  or  conceit,  he  managed  to 
keep  him  at  a  distance,  and  check  every  approach  to  inti- 
macy. 

With  Kenrick  the  case  was  different.  Charlie  thought 
that  he  looked  one  of  the  nicest  and  best  fellows  in  the 
house,  but  he  could  not  get  over  the  fact  that  Wilton  waa 
his  favorite.  It  was  Wilton's  constant  and  daily  boast 
that  Ken  would  do  anything  for  him  ;  and  Charlie  felt 
,hat  Wilton  was  not  a  boy  whom  Walter  or  Power  at  any 
'ate  would  even  have  tolerated,  much  less  liked.     It  was 

291 


2D2  CHARLIE    MAKES    ENEMIES. 

this  that  made  him  receive  Kenrick's  advances  with  shyness 
aud  coldness  ;  and  when  Kenrick  observed  this,  he  at  once 
concluded  that  Charlie  had  been  set  against  him  by  Wal- 
ter, and  that  he  would  report  to  Walter  all  he  did  and 
said.  This  belief  was  galling  to  him  as  wormwood.  Sud- 
denly, and  with  most  insulting  publicity  he  turned  Charlie 
off  from  being  one  of  his  fags,  and  from  that  time  never 
spoke  of  him  without  a  sneer,  and  never  spoke  to  him 
at  all, 

Meanwhile,  as  the  term  advanced,  St.  Winifred's  gradu- 
ally revealed  itself  to  Charlie  in  a  more  and  more  unfavor- 
able light.  The  discipline  of  the  school  was  in  a  most  im- 
paired state  ;  the  evening  work  grew  more  and  more  disor- 
derly ;  few  of  the  monitors  did  their  duty  with  any  vigor, 
and  the  big  idle  fellows  in  the  fifth  set  the  example  of  inso- 
lence towards  them  and  rudeness  to  the  masters.  All  rules 
were  set  at  defiance  with  impunity,  aud  in  the  chaos  which 
ensued,  every  one  did  what  was  right  in  his  own  eyes. 

One  evening,  during  evening  work,  Charlie  was  trying 
hard  to  do  the  verses  which  had  been  set  to  his  form.  He 
found  it  very  difficult  in  the  noise  that  was  going  on.  Not 
half  a  dozen  fellows  in  the  room  were  working  or  attempt- 
ing to  work  ;  they  were  talking,  laughing,  rattling  the 
desks,  playing  tricks  on  each  other,  and  throwing  books 
about  the  room.  The  one  bewildered  new  master,  who 
nominally  kept  order  among  the  two  hundred  boys  in  the 
room,  walked  up  and  down  in  despair,  speaking  in  vain 
fir.-st  to  one,  then  to  another,  and  almost  giving  up  the  farce 
of  attempting  to  maintain  silence.  But  seeing  Charlie  seri- 
ously at  work  he  came  up  and  asked  if  he  could  give  him 
any  assistance  ? 

Charley  gratefully  thanked  him,  and  the  master  sat 
down  to  try  and  smooth  some  of  his  difficulties.  His  doing 
so  was  the  sigr  for  an  audible  titter,  which  there  was  nc 


EVENINU    WOKK.  293 

attempt  to  suppress  ;  and  when  he  had  passed  on,  Wil< 
ton,  whose  conduct  had  been  more  impertinent  than  that 
of  any  one  else,  said  to  Charlie — 

"  I  say,  young  Bvson,  how  are  you  grinding  ?" 

"  I  have  these  verses  to  do,"  said  Charlie,  simply. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  1"  laughed  Wilton,  as  though  he  had 
made  some  good  joke.  "  Here,  shall  I  give  you  a  wrin- 
kle V 

"  Yes,  if  it's  allowed." 

The  answer  was  greeted  with  another  laugh,  and  Wil- 
ton said,  •'  I'll  save  you  all  further  trouble,  young  'uo. 
Observe  the  dodge  ;  we're  all  up  to  it." 

He  put  up  a  white  handkerchief  to  his  nose,  and  walk- 
ing to  the  master  said,  "  Please,  sir,  my  nose  is  bleeding 
May  I  go  out  for  a  minute  ?" 

"  Your  nose  bleeding  ?  That's  the  third  time  your  nose 
has  bled  this  week,  and  other  boys  have  also  come  with 
their  noses  bleeding." 

"  Do  you  doubt  my  word,  sir  ?"  asked  Wiltou,  his  hand- 
kerchief still  held  up,  and  assuming  an  injured  air. 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  do  so  until  you  give  me  reason," 
answered  the  master,  courteously.  "  It  seems  a  strange 
circumstance,  but  you  may  go." 

It  would  have  been  very  easy  to  see  whether  his  nose 
was  bleeding  or  not,  but  the  master  was  trying,  very  un- 
successfully at  present,  whether  implicit  confidence  would 
produce  a  sense  of  honor  among  the  boys. 

Wiltou  went  out  hardly  concealing  his  laughter,  and  in 
ten  minutes  returned  with  the  verses,  finished  and  written 
out. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  Ken  did  those  for  me  ;  he  knocked 
them  off  in  five  minutes.  Keu's  an  awfully  clever  fellow, 
though  he  never  opens  a  book.  Don't  bore  yourself  with 
verses  any  more  ;  I'll  get  them  done  for  you." 


294  AN    ORDEAL. 

Charlie  glanced  at  the  paper,  and  s^w  at  once  that  the 
verses  were  perfectly  done. 

•'  Do  you  mean  to  show  up  that  copy  as  your  own, 
Wilton  ?" 

"Of  course  I  do." 

"  Bnt  we  are  marked  for  them." 

"  Hear,  hear  !  thanks  for  the  information.  So  much  the 
oettcr.     I  shall  get  a  jolly  good  mark." 

"  Shut  up,  young  Innocence,  and  don't  be  a  muff,"  said 
another  Noelite.  "  We  all  do  the  same  thing.  Take  what 
Heaven  senas  you  and  be  glad  to  get  it." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Charlie,  looking  round  ;  " you  may, 
but  I'd  rather  not.     It  isn't  fair." 

"  Oh,  how  good  we  are  !  how  sweet  we  are  1  what  an 
angel  we  are  1"  said  Wilton,  turning  up  the  whites  of  his 
eyes,  while  the  rest  applauded  him.  But  if  they  meant 
their  jeers  to  tell  on  Charlie's  resolution,  they  were  mis- 
taken. He  looked  quietly  round  at  them  all  with  his  clear 
eyes,  gravely  handed  the  paper  back  to  Wilton,  and  quietly 
resumed  his  work.  They  were  angry  to  be  so  foiled,  and 
determined  that,  if  he  would  not  copy  the  verses,  he  should 
\t  least  do  them  in  no  other  way.  One  of  them  took  his 
paper  and  tore  it,  another  split  up  his  quill  pens  by  dashing 
them  on  the  desk,  while  a  third  seized  his  dictionary.  The 
master,  observing  that  something  was  going  on  at  that 
desk,  came  and  stood  by  ;  as  long  as  he  was  there,  Charlie 
managed  to  write  out  what  he  had  done,  while  the  others, 
cunningly  inserting  an  occasional  mistake,  or  altering  a  few 
epithets,  copied  out  the  verses  which  Kenrick  had  done  for 
Wilton.  But  directly  the  master  turned  away  again,  a 
boy  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  with  the  utmost  de« 
liberation,  tc  )k  hold  of  Charlie's  fair  copy,  and  emptied 
the  inkstand  over  it  in  three  or  four  separate  streams. 

Vexed  as  he   was — for  until    this  time  he   had  neve* 


IS  IT  TKACE?  295 

Known  unkindness — he  took  it  quietly  and  good  liumoredly 
Next  morning,  before  the  rest  of  the  boys  in  his  dormitory, 
who  were  mainly  in  his  own  form,  were  aware  of  what  he 
meant  to  do,  lie  got  up  early  and  went  to  Walter's  study, 
hoping  to  write  out  the  verses  there  from  memory.  But  he 
found  the  study  in  the  possession  of  the  housemaid  ;  chapel- 
bell  rang,  and  after  chapel  he  went  into  morning  school 
with  the  exercise  unfinished.  For  this,  he,  the  only  boy  in 
the  form  who  had  attempted  to  do  his  duty,  received  a  pun- 
ishment, while  the  rest  looked  on  unabashed,  and  got  marks 
for  their  stolen  work.  Wilton  received  nearly  full  marks 
for  his.  The  master,  Mr.  Paton's  successor,  thought  it  odd 
Wilton  could  do  his  verses  so  much  better  than  any  of  his 
other  work,  but  he  could  not  detect  the  cheating,  and  Wil- 
ton always  assured  him  that  the  verses  were  entirely  his 
own  composition. 

It  was  about  time  now,  Wilton  thought,  to  hoist  his  true 
colors  ;  but,  as  he  had  abundance  of  brass,  he  followed 
Charlie  out  of  the  schoolroom,  talked  to  him  familiarly  as 
if  nothing  had  happened,  and  finally  took  his  arm.  But 
this  was  too  much  ;  for  the  boy,  who  was  opeu  as  the  day 
iu  all  his  dealings,  at  once  withdrew  his  arm.  and  standing 
Hill,  looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

"  So  1"  said  Wilton,  "  now  take  your  choice — friends  or 
enemies — which  shall  it  be  ?" 

"  If  you  want  me  to  cheat,  and  tell  lies,  and  be  mean — 
not  friends" 

"  So  1  enemies  then,  mind.  Look  out  for  squalls,  young 
Evson.  One  question,  though,"  said  Wilton,  as  Charlie 
turned  away. 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Are  you  going  to  sneak  about  this  to  your  brother  V 

Charlie  was  silent.  Without  any  intention  of  procuring 
Walter's  interference,  he  had  meant  to  talk  to  him  about 


'296  A    PRECAUTION. 

his  difficulties,  and  to  ask  his  advice.  But  if  this  was  to 
be  stigmatised  as  sneaking  he  felt  he  had  rather  not  do  it, 
for  there  is  no  action  a  bov  fears  more,  and  considers  more 
mean  than  this. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  "Wilton  ;  "  you  do  mean  to  peach, 
blab,  tell  tales,  do  you  ?  Well,  it  don't  matter  much  ; 
you'll  find  he  can  do  precious  little  ;  and  it  will  be  all  the 
worse  for  you  in  the  long-run." 

"  I  shan't  tell  him,"  said  Charley,  shortly  ;  and  those 
words  sealed  his  lips,  as  with  a  heavy  heart  he  entered  the 
breakfast-room,  and  meditated  on  troubles  to  come. 

Which  troubles  came  quite  fast  enough — very  fast  in- 
deed. For  the  house,  or  rather  the  leading  spirits  in  it, 
thought  that  they  had  wasted  quite  enough  time,  and  with 
quite  sufficient  success  in  angling  for  the  new  boys,  and  de- 
termined to  resume  without  any  further  delay  their  ordi- 
nary courses.  If  Charlie  was  fool  enough  to  resist  them, 
they  said,  so  much  the  worse  for  him.  During  the  day, 
indeed,  he  was  saved  from  many  of  the  annoyances  which 
Walter  had  been  obliged  to  endure,  by  escaping  from  the 
Great  Schoolroom  to  the  happy  and  quiet  refuge  of  Wal- 
ter's or  Power's,  or  Eden's  study.  There  he  could  always 
be  unmolested,  and  enjoy  the  kindness  with  which  he  was 
treated,  and  the  cheerful,  healthy  atmosphere  which  con- 
trasted so  strangely  in  its  moral  sweetness  with  the  turbid 
and  polluted  air  of  Noelite  society.  .  But  in  the  evening  at 
Preparation,  and  afterwards  in  the  dormitories,  he  was 
wholly  at  the  mercy  of  that  bad  confedracy  which  had 
tried  to  mould  him  to  its  own  will.  He  was  in  a  large 
dormitory  of  ten  boys,  and  as  this  was  the  principal  room 
in  Mr.  Noel's  house,  it  formed  the  regular  refuge  every 
night  for  the  idle  and  the  mischievously  inclined.  When 
the  candles  were  put  out  at  bed-time  it  was  seldom  long 
before  they  were  lelit  in  this  room — which  was  somewhat 


charlik's  troubles.  297 

remote  from  the  others  at  the  end  of  a  long  corridor,  and 
of  which  the  window  opened  on  a  secluded  part  of  Dr. 
Lane's  garden.  If  a  scout  were  placed  at  the  end  of  the 
eorridor  he  could  give  timely  warning  of  any  danger,  so 
chat  the  chance  of  detection  was  very  small.  Had  the 
candles  been  relit  only  for  a  game  of  play,  Charley  would 
have  been  the  first  to  join  in  the  fun.  But  the  Noelites 
were  far  too  vitiated  in  taste  to  be  lone;  content  with  mere 
bolstering  or  harmless  games.  It  seemed  to  Charlie  that 
the  candles  were  relit  chieily  for  the  purpose  of  eating  and 
drinking  forbidden  things,  of  playing  cards,  or  of  bullying 
and  tormenting  those  boys  who  were  least  advanced  in 
general  wickedness. 

"I  say,  young  Evson,"  said  Wilton  to  him  one  night 
booh  after  the  fracas  above  narrated,  "  we're  going  to  have 
some  fun  to-night.  Stone,  like  a  brick  as  he  is,  has  stood 
a  couple  of  bottles  of  wine,  and  Ilanley  some  cards.  We 
shall  have  a  smoke  too." 

All  this  was  said  in  a  tone  of  braggadocio,  meant  to  be 
exceedingly  telling,  but  it  only  made  Charlie  feel  that  he 
loathed  this  swaggering  little  boy  with  his  premature  savoir 
vivre,  more  and  more.  He  understood  too  the  hint  that 
two  of  the  new  fellows  had  contributed  to  the  house  carou- 
sal, and  fully  expected  that  he  would  be  asked  next.  He 
secretly,  however,  determined  to  refuse,  because  he  knew 
well  that  a  mere  harmless  feast  was  not  intended,  but 
rather  a  smoking  and  drinking  bout.  He  had  subscribed 
liberally  to  all  the  legitimate  funds — the  football,  the  rac- 
quet court,  the  gymnasium  ;  but  he  saw  no  reason  why  he 
should  be  taxed  for  things  which  he  disliked  and  disap* 
proved.  The  result  of  that  evening  confirmed  him  in  hit 
resolution.  It  was  a  scene  of  drinking,  gluttony,  secret 
fear,  endless  squabbling,  and  joyless  excitement. 

"  Of  course  you'll  play,  and  put  into  the  pool  V  said  Wilton 

13* 


£98  "no,  thank  you.* 

"  No,  thank  you." 

'■'  No,  thank  you,"  said  Wilton,  scornfully  miniickiug  nia 
tone.  "  Of  course  not  ;  you'll  do  nothing  except  set  your- 
self up  for  a  saint,  and  make  yourself  disagreeable." 

During  the  evening  Stone  brought  him  some  wine,  which 
Charlie  again  declined,  with  "  No,  thank  you,  Stone." 
Wilton  again  echoed  the  refusal,  which  was  chorused  by  a 
dozen  others  ;  and  from  that  time  Charlie  was  duly  dubbed 
with  the  nickname  of  No-thank-you.  He  was  forcibly 
christened  by  this  new  name,  by  being  held  in  bed  while 
half  a  wineglass  of  port  was  thrown  in  his  face.  The 
wine  poured  down  and  stained  his  night-shirt,  and  then 
they  all  began  to  dread  that  it  would  lead  to  their  being 
discovered,  and  threatened  Charlie  with  endless  penalties  if 
he  dared  to  tell.  There  was,  however,  little  danger,  as  the 
Noelites  had  bribed  the  servants  who  waited  on  them  and 
cleaned  their  rooms. 

The  same  scene,  with  slight  variations,  was  constantly 
repeated,  and  every  fresh  refusal  was  accompanied  by  a 
kick  or  a  cuff  from  the  bigger  boys,  a  sneer  or  an  insult 
from  the  younger  ;  for  Charlie  himself  was  one  of  the 
youngest  of  them  all.  One  night  it  was,  "  I  say,  you  fel- 
low— you,  No-thank-you — will  you  fork  out  for  some  wine 
to-night  ?  No  ?  Well  then,  take  that  and  that,  and  be 
\iung  to  you  for  a  little  muff."  Another  time  it  would  be, 
"  Hi  there,  No-thank-you,  we  want  sixpence  for  a  pack  of 
cards.  Oh,  you  won't  be  so  sinful  as  to  part  with  sixpence 
for  cards  !  Confounded  little  miser  ;"  "  Niggard,"  said 
another  ;  "  Skinflint,"  shouted  a  third.  And  a  general  cry 
of  "Saint,"  whkh  expressed  the  climax  of  villany,  ended 
the  verbal  portion  of  the  contest.  And  then  some  one 
would  slap  him  on  the  cheek,  with  "take  that,"  "and 
that,"  from  another,  "and  that,"  from  a  third — the  last 
being  a  boot  or  a  piece  of  soap  shied  at  his  head. 


FOR   CONSCIENCE*    SAKE.  299 

It  canuot  De  more  wearisome  to  the  reader  than  it  is  to 
me  to  linger  in  these  coarse  scenes  ;  but  for  Charlie  it  was 
a  long  martyrdom  most  heroically  borne.  He  was  almost 
literally  alone  and  single-handed  against  the  rest  of  the 
bouse  ;  yet  he  would  not  give  way.  Walter,  and  Power, 
and  Henderson,  all  knew  that  he  was  bullied,  sorely 
bullied  ;  this  they  learnt  far  more  from  Eden,  and  from 
other  sources,  than  from  Charlie  himself,  for  he,  poor  child, 
held  himself  bound  by  his  promise  to  Wilton,  and  kept  his 
lips  resolutely  sealed.  But  these  friends  knew  that  he  was 
suffering  for  conscience'  sake  ;  and  Walter  helped  him  with 
tender,  brotherly  affection,  and  Power  with  brave  words 
and  kindly  sympathy,  as  well  as  by  noble  example,  and 
Henderson  by  his  cheering  and  playful  manner  ; — and  this 
caused  him  much  happiness  all  day  long,  until  he  felt  that, 
with  that  short  but  heart-uttered  prayer  which  he  breathed 
so  earnestly  from  "  the  altar  of  his  own  bedside,"  he  had 
strength  sufficient  to  meet  and  to  conquer  the  trials  which 
night  brought. 

In  the  house  one  boy  and  one  only  helped  him.  That 
boy  ought  to  have  been  Kenrick  ;  his  monitorial  authority 
and  many  responsible  privileges  were  entrusted  to  him,  as 
ho  well  knew,  for  the  main  express  purpose  of  putting 
down  all  immorality,  and  all  cruelty,  with  a  stroug  and 
remorseless  hand.  It  required  very  little  courage  to  do 
this  ;  the  sympathies  of  the  majority  of  boys,  unless  they 
be  suffered  to  grow  corrupted  with  an  evil  leaven,  are  natu- 
rally and  strongly  on  the  side  of  right.  In  Mr.  Robert- 
son's house,  for  instance,  where  Walter  and  Henderson 
were  monitors,  such  wrong  doings  could  not  have  gone  on 
with  impunity,  or  rather  could  not  have  gone  on  at  all 
There,  a  little  boy,  treated  with  gross  severity  or  injustice, 
would  uot  have  hesitated  for  an  instant  to  invoke  the 
ussistance  of  the  monitors,  whom  he  looked   upon  as  his 


300  OTHER    HOUSES. 

natural  guardians,  and  who  would  be  eager  to  exieud  to 
him  a  generous  and  efficient  protection.  The  same  was 
the  case  in  Mr.  Edwardes'  house,  of  which  Power  was  the 
head.  Power,  indeed,  had  no  coadjutor  on  whom  he  could 
at  all  rely.  One  of  the  monitors  associated  with  him  was 
Legrauge,  who  rather  followed  Kenrick's  lead,  and  the 
other  was  Brown,  who,  though  well-intentioned,  was  a  boy 
of  no  authority.  Yet  these  two  houses  were  in  a  better 
condition  than  any  others  in  the  school,  because  the  heads 
of  them  did  their  duty  ;  and  it  was  no  slight  credit  to 
Walter  and  Henderson  that  their  house  stood  higher  in 
character  than  any  other,  although  it  contained  both  Har- 
pour  and  Jones.  This  could  not  have  been  the  case  had 
not  those  two  worthies  found  a  powerful  counterpoise  in 
two  other  fifth-form  fellows,  Franklin  and  Cradock,  whose 
excellence  was  almost  solely  due  to  Walter's  influence. 
Kenrick,  on  the  other  hand,  never  interfered  in  the  house, 
and  let  things  go  on  exactly  as  they  liked,  although  they 
were  going  to  rack  and  ruin. 

Charlie's  sole  friend  and  helper  in  the  house  then  was, 
not  Kenrick,  but  Bliss.  Poor  Bliss  quite  belied  his  name, 
for  his  school  work,  in  which  he  never  could  by  any  effort 
succeed,  kept  him  in  a  state  of  lugubrious  disappointment. 
Bliss  lived  a  dim  kind  of  life,  seeing  all  sorts  of  young 
boys  get  above  him  and  beat  him  in  the  race,  and  vaguely 
groping  in  thick  mental  darkness.  Do  what  he  would  the 
stream  of  knowledge  fled  from  his  tantalized  lip  whenever 
he  stooped  to  drink  ;  and  the  fruits,  which  others  plucked 
easily,  sprang  up  out  of  his  reach  when  he  tried  to  touch 
the  bough.  He  was  constantly  crushed  by  a  desolating 
sense  of  his  own  stupidity,  and  yet  his  good  temper  was 
charming  under  all  his  trials,  and  he  loved  with  a  grateful 
humility  all  who  tolerated  his  shortcomings.  For  this 
reason    he   had   a   sincere   affection   for   Henderson,  wh« 


BLISS  301 

plagued  him,  indeed,  incessantly,  but  never  in  an  unkind 
or  insulting  way  ;  and  who  more  than  made  up  for  the 
teazing  by  patient  and  constant  help,  without  which  Bliss 
would  not  have  succeeded  even  as  well  as  he  did.  Blisa 
was  a  strong  active  fellow,  and  good  at  the  games,  so  that 
with  most  of  the  school  he  got  on  very  well  ;  but,  never- 
theless, he  was  generally  set  down  as  nearly  half-witted— a 
mere  dolt.  Dolt  or  not,  he  did  Charlie  inestimable  service; 
and  if  any  boy  is  in  like  case  with  Bliss,  let  him  take  cour- 
age, for  even  the  merest  dolt  has  immense  power  for  good 
as  well  as  for  harm,  and  Bliss  extended  to  Charlie  a  gentle 
and  manly  sympathy  which  many  a  clever  boy  might  have 
envied.  lie  knew  that  Charlie  was  ill  used.  Not  beaur  iu 
the  same  dormitory,  and  joining  very  little  in  the  house 
concerns,  he  was  not  able  to  interfere  very  directly  in  his 
aid  ;  but  he  never  failed  to  encourage  him  to  resist  iniquity 
of  every  kind.  "  Hold  out,  young  Evson,"  he  would  often 
say  to  him  ;  "you're  a  good,  brave  little  chap,  and  don't 
give  in  ;  you're  in  the  right,  and  they  in  the  wrong  ;  and 
right  is  might,  be  sure  of  that." 

It  was  something  in  those  days  to  meet  with  approbation 
for  well-doing  among  the  Noelites  ;  and  Charlie,  with  genu- 
ine gratitude,  never  forgot  Bliss's  kind  support  ;  till  Bliss 
left  St.  Winifred's  they  continued  firm  friends  and  fast. 

"  Have  you  made  any  friends  in  the  house  ?'*7  asked  Mr. 
Noel  of  Charlie  on  one  occasion  ;  for  he  often  seized  an 
opportunity  of  talking  to  his  younger  boys,  for  whom  he 
felt  a  sincere  interest,  and  whom  he  would  gladly  have 
shielded  from  temptation  to  the  very  utmost  of  his  power, 
had  he  but  known  that  of  which  he  was  unhappily  so  igno- 
rant—the bad  state  of  things  among  the  boys  under  his 
rare. 

"  Not  many,  sir,"  said  Charlie. 

"  Haven't  you  ?     I'm  sorry  to  hear  that.     I  like  to  see 


302  chaklie's  gratitude. 

boys  forming  friendships  for  future  life  ;  and  there  are 
some  very  nice  fellows  in  the  house.  Wilton,  for  instance, 
ion'1  yon  like  him  ?  he's  very  idle  and  volatile,  I  know, 
but  still  he  seems  to  me  a  pleasant  boy." 

Charlie  could  hardly  suppress  a  smile,  but  said  nothing  ; 
and  Mr.  Noel  continued,  "  Who  is  your  chief  friend,  Ev 
son,  among  my  boys  ?" 

"  Bliss,  sir."  said  Charlie,  with  alacrity. 

"Bliss!"  answered  Mr.  Noel,  in  surprise.  "What 
makes  you  like  him  so  much  ?  Is  he  not  very  backward 
and  stupid  V 

But  Charlie  would  not  hear  a  word  against  Bliss,  and 
speaking  with  all  the  open  trustfulness  of  a  new  boy,  he 
exclaimed,  "  Oh,  sir  !  Bliss  is  an  excellent  fellow  ;  I  wish 
there  were  many  more  like  him  ;  he's  a  capital  fellow,  sir, 
I  like  him  very  much  ;  he's  the  best  fellow  in  the  house, 
and  the  oidy  one  who  stands  by  me  when  I'm  in  trouble." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you've  found  one  friend,  Evson,"  said 
Mr.  Noel  ;  "no  matter  who  he  is." 

One  way  in  which  Bliss  showed  his  friendship  was  by 
going  privately  to  Kenrick,  and  complaining  of  the  way  in 
which  Charlie  was  bullied.  "  Why  don't  you  interfere 
Kenrick  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Interfere,  pooh!  It  will  do  the  young  cub  good;  he'a 
too  conceited,  by  half." 

"  I  never  saw  a  little  fellow  less  conceited,  anyhow." 

Kenrick  stared  at  him.  "  What  business  is  it  of  yours, 
[  should  like  to  know  ?" 

"  It  is  business  of  mine  :  he  is  a  good  little  fellow,  and 
he's  only  kicked  because  the  others  can't  make  him  as  bad 
a  lot  as  they  are  themselves  ;  there's  that  Wilton" 

"  Shut  up  about  Wilton,  he's  a  friend  of  miue." 

"  Then  more  shame  for  you,"  said  Bliss. 

"  He's  worth  fifty  such  chickens  as  little  Evson,  any  day," 


UNDER    KEPEOOF.  3U3 

"  Chickens  !"  said  Bliss,  with  a  tone  as  nearly  like  con- 
tempt as  he  had  ever  assumed  ;  "  it's  clear  you  don't  know 
much  about  him  :  I  wish,  Keurick,  you'd  do  your  duty 
more,  and  then  the  house  would  not  be  so  bad  as  it  is." 

Kenrick  opened  his  eyes  wide  ;  lie  had  never  heard  Bliss 
speak  like  this  before.  "  I  don't  want  the  learned,  the 
clever,  the  profound  Bliss  to  teach  me  my  duty,"  he  said, 
with  a  proud  sneer  :  what  business  have  you  to  abuse  the 
house,  because  it  is  not  full  of  young  ninnies  like  Evson  ? 
You're  no  monitor  of  mine,  let  me  tell  you." 

"  You  may  sneer,  Kenrick,  at  my  being  stupid,  if  you 
like  ;  but,  for  all  your  cleverness,  I  wouldn't  be  you  for 
something  ;  and  if  you  won't  interfere,  as  you  ought,  I  will, 
if  I  can."  And  as  Bliss  said  this,  with  clear  (laming  anger, 
and  fixed  on  Kenrick  his  eyes,  which  were  lighted  up  with 
honest  purpose,  Kenrick  thought  he  had  never  seen  him 
look  so  handsome  or  so  fine  a  fellow.  "  Yes,  even  lie  is  su- 
perior to  me  now,"  he  thought,  with  a  sigh,  as  Bliss  left  the 
room.  Poor  Ken — there  was  no  unhappier  boy  at  St. 
Winifred's  ;  as  he  ate  and  ate  of  those  ashy  fruits  of  sin, 
they  grew  more  and  more  dusty  and  bitter  to  his  parched 
taste  ;  as  he  drank  of  that  napthaline  river  of  wayward 
oride,  it  scorched  his  heart  and  did  iwt  quench  his  thirst. 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY-THIRD. 

MARTYRDOM. 

/>f  &ADTJALLY  the  persecutions  to  which  Chailie  was 
I  -j    subjected  mainly  turned   on    one   point.      His  tor- 

V.A  mentors  were  so  far  tired  of  bullying  him,  that  they 
would  have  left  him  in  comparative  peace  if  he  would  have 
yielded  one  point,  which  was  this. 

The  Noelites  were  accustomed  now  and  then  to  have  a 
grand  evening  "spread"  as  they  called  it;  and  when  they 
had  finished  this  supper,  which  was  usually  supplied  by 
Dan,  they  generally  began  smoking,  an  amusement  which 
they  could  enjoy  after  the  lights  were  out.  The  smokers 
used  to  sit  in  the  long  corridor,  which,  as  I  have  said,  led 
to  their  dormitory,  and  the  scout  was  always  posted  to 
W£.m  them  of  approaching  danger  ;  but  as  they  did  not 
begin  operations  till  the  master  had  gone  his  nightly 
rounds,  and  were  very  quiet  about  it,  there  was  not  much 
danger  of  their  being  disturbed.  Yet  although  the  win- 
dows of  the  corridor  and  dormitory  were  all  left  wide  open, 
and  every  other  precaution  was  taken,  it  was  impossible  to 
get  rid  of  the  fumes  of  tobacco  so  entirely  as  to  avoid  all 
chances  of  detection.  They  had,  indeed,  bribed  the  ser- 
vants to  secrecy,  but  what  they  feared  was  being  detected 
by  some  master.  The  Noelites,  therefore,  of  that  dormi- 
tory had  been  accustomed  to  agree  that  if  they  were  ques- 
tioned by  any  master  about  the  smell  of  smoking,  they 
would  all  deny  that  any  smoking  had  taken  place.  The 
other  nine  boys  in  the  dormitory,  with  the  doubtful  excep- 
tion of  Elgood,  had  promised  that  they  would  stick  to  this 

304 


FIRM    FOR    TRUTH.  305 

assertion  in  ease  of  their  being  asked.  The  question  was, 
"  Would  Charlie  promise  the  same  thing  ?"  If  not,  the 
boys  felt  doubly  insecure — insecure  about  the  stability  of 
their  falsehood  and  the  secresy  of  their  proceedings. 

And  Charlie  Evson,  of  course,  refused  to  promise  this. 
Single-handed  he  fought  this  battle  against  the  other  boys 
in  his  house,  and  in  spite  of  solicitation,  coaxing,  entreaty, 
threats,  and  blows,  steadily  declared  that  he  was  no  tell-tale, 
that  he  had  never  mentioned  anything  which  had  gone  on  in 
the  house,  but  that  if  he  were  directly  asked  whether  a  par- 
tieular  act  had  taken  place  or  not,  he  would  still  keep 
silent,  but  could  not  and  would  not  tell  a  lie. 

Now  some  of  the  house — and  especially  Mackworth  and 
Wilton — had  determined,  by  the  help  of  the  rest,  to  crush 
this  opposition,  to  conquer  this  obstinacy,  as  they  called 
it;  and,  since  Charlie's  reluctance  could  not  be  overcome 
by  persuasion  or  argument,  to  break  it  down  by  sheer  force. 
So,  night  after  night,  a  number  of  them  gathered  round 
Charlie,  and  tried  every  means  which  ingenuity  or  malice 
could  suggest  to  make  him  yield  en  this  one  point ;  the 
more  so,  because  they  well  knew  that  to  gain  one  conces- 
sion was  practically  to  gain  all,  and  Charlie's  uprightuess 
contrasted  so  unpleasantly  with  their  own  base  compli- 
ances, that  his  mere  presence  among  them  became,  from 
this  circumstance,  a  constant  annoyance.  One  boy,  with  a 
high  and  firm  moral  standard,  steadily  and  consistently 
good,  can  hardly  fail  to  be  most  unpopular  in  a  large  house 
full  of  bad  and  reckless  boys. 

It  was  a  long  and  hard  struggle  ;  so  long  that  Charlie 
felt  as  if  it  would  last  for  ever,  aud  his  strength  would 
give  way  before  he  had  wearied  out  his  persecutors.  For 
now  it  seemed  to  be  a  positive  amusement,  a  pleasant  occu- 
pation to  them,  night  after  night,  to  bully  him.  He 
Ireaded,  be  shuddered  at  the  return  of  evening  ;  he  knew 


306  A    HARD    STRUGGLE. 

well  that  from  the  time  when  Preparation  began,  till  the 
rest  were  all  asleep,  he  could  look  for  little  peace.     Some- 
times he  was  tempted  to  yield.     He  knew  that  at  the  bot- 
tom the  fellows  did  not  really  hate  him,  that  he  might  be 
very  popular  if  he  chose,  even  without  going  to  nearly  the 
same  lengths  as  the  others,  and  that  if  he  would  but  pro- 
mise Lot  to  tell,   his  assent  would  be  hailed  with  accla- 
mations.    Besides,  said  the  tempter,  the  chances  are  very 
Btrongly  in  favor  of  your  not  being  asked  at  all  about  the 
matter,  so  that  there  is  every  probability  of  your  not  being 
called  upon  to  tell  the   "  cram  ;"  for  by  some  delicate  dis- 
tinction the  falsehood  presented  itself  under  the  guise  of 
"  a  cram,"  and  not  of  a  naked  lie  ;  that  was  a  word  the 
boys  carefully  avoided  applying  to  it,  and  were  quite  angry 
if  Charlie  called  it  by  its  right  name.     One  evening  the 
poor  little  fellow  was  so  weary  and  hopeless  and  sad  at 
heart,  and  he  had  been  thrashed  so  long  and  so  severely, 
that  he  was  very  near  yielding.     A  paper  had  been  written, 
the  signing  of  which  was  tacitly  understood  to  involve  a 
promise  to  deny  that  there  had  been  any  smoking  at  night 
if  they  were  taxed  with  it  ;  and  all  the  boys  except  Elgood 
and  Charlie  had  signed  this  paper.     But  the  fellows  did 
not  care  for  Elgood  ;  they  knew  that  he  dared  not  oppose 
them  long,  and  that  they  could  make  him  do  their  bidding 
whenever  the  time  came.     Well,  one  evening,  Charlie,  in  a 
weak  mood,  was  on  the  verge  of  signing  the  paper,  and 
thus  purchasing  a  cessation  of  the  long  series  of  injuries 
rmd  taunts  from  which  he  had  been  suffering.     He  was  sit- 
ting up  in  bed,  and  had  taken  the  pencil  in  hand  to  sign  his 
name.      The  boys,  in  an  eager  group   round  him,   were 
calling  him  a  regular  brick,  encouraging  him,  patting  him 
on  the  back,  and  saying  that  they  had  been  sure  all  along 
<hat  he  was  a  nice  little  fellow,  and  would  come  round  at 
*ast.     Elgood  was   among  them,  looking  on  with  anxious 


SAVED.  807 

eyes.  He  had  immensely  admired  Charlie's  brave  firmness, 
and  nothing  Imt  reliance  on  the  strength  of  his  stronger 
will  had  encouraged  him  in  the  .shadow  of  opposition.  "If 
young  Evson  does  it,"  he  whispered,  "I  will  directly." 
Charlie  caught  the  whisper ;  and  in  an  agony  of  shame 
flung  away  the  pencil,  lie  had  very  nearly  sinned  him- 
self, and  forgotten  the  resolution  which  had  been  granted 
him  in  answer  to  his  many  prayers  ;  but  he  had  seen  thu 
effects  of  bad  example,  and  nothing  should  induce  him  to 
lead  others  with  him  into  sin.  "  Lead  us  not  into  temp- 
tation, but  deliver  us  from  evil,"  was  the  instant  supplication 
which  rose  from  his  inmost  heart,  as  he  threw  down  the 
pencil  and  pushed  the  paper  aside. 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  he  said ;  "  I  must  not  do  it ;  I  never 
told  a  lie  in  my  life  that  I  remember.  Don't  ask  me  any 
more."  Instantly  the  tone  and  temper  of  the  boys  changed. 
A  shower  of  words,  which  I  will  not  repeat,  assailed  his 
ears  ;  he  was  dragged  out  of  bed  and  thrashed  more  un- 
mercifully than  he  had  ever  been  before.  "You  shall 
give  way  in  the  end,  mind  that,"  was  the  last  admonition 
he  received  from  one  of  the  bigger  fellows,  as  he  dragged 
himself  to  his  bed  sobbing  for  pain,  and  aching  with  dis- 
quietude of  heart.  "The  sooner  it  is  the  better;  for  you 
little  muff's  and  would  be  saints  don't  go  down  with  us." 

And  then  for  a  few  evenings,  when  the  candles  were  put 
out,  and  the  fellows  had  nothing  better  to  do,  it  used  to  be 
the  regular  thing  for  some  one  to  suggest,  "  Come,  let's  bait 
No-thank-you  ;  it'll  be  rare  fun."  Then  another  would  say, 
"  Come,  No-thank-you,  sign  the  paper  like  a  good  fellow, 
and  spare  yourself  all  the  rest."  "  Do,"  another  insidious 
friend  would  add ;  "lam  quite  sorry  to  see  you  kicked 
and  thrashed  so  often."  "  I'll  strike  a  light  in  one  second 
if  you  will,  suggested  a  fourth.  "No,  you  won't?  oil, 
then,  look  out  Master  No-thank-you,  look  out  for  squalls." 


308  RESISTING    EVIL. 

But  still,  however  beaten  or  insulted,  holding  out  like  a 
man,  and  not  letting  the  tears  fall  if  he  could  help  it,  though 
they  swam  in  his  eyes  for  pain  and  grief,  the  brave  boy  re- 
sisted evil,  and  would  not  be  forced  to  stain  his  white  soul 
with  the  promise  of  a  lie. 

There  were  some  who,  though  they  dared  not  say  any- 
thing, yet  looked  on  this  struggle  with  mingled  shame  and 
admiration — shame  for  themselves,  admiration  for  Charlie. 
It  could  not  be  but  that  there  were  some  hearts  among  so 
many  which  had  not  seared  the  tender  nerves  of  pity,  and 
more  than  once  Charlie  saw  kindly  faces  looking  at  him  out 
of  the  cowardly  group  of  tormentors,  and  heard  timid  words 
of  disapprobation  spoken  to  the  worst  of  those  who  bullied 
him.  More  often  too,  some  young  Noelite  who  met  him 
during  the  day  would  seem  to  address  him  with  a  changed 
nature,  would  speak  to  him  warmly  and  with  friendliness, 
would  show  by  little  kind  words  and  actions  that  he  felt 
for  him  and  respected  him,  although  he  had  not  courage 
enough  to  resist  publicly  the  opposing  stream.  And  others 
of  the  baser  sort  observed  this.  What  if  this  one  little  new 
fellow  should  beat  them  after  all,  and  end  their  domination, 
and  introduce  in  spite  of  them  a  truer  and  better  and  more 
natural  state  of  things  ?  it  was  not  to  be  tolerated  for  a 
moment,  and  he  must  be  put  down  with  a  strong  hand  at 
once. 

Meanwhile  Charlie's  heart  was  fast  failing  him,  dying 
away  within  him  ;  for  under  this  persecution  his  health  and 
spirits  were  worn  out.  His  face,  they  noticed,  was  far  paler 
shau  when  he  came,  his  looks  almost  haggard,  and  his 
manner  less  sprightly  than  before.  He  had  honorably  ab- 
stained hitherto  from  giving  Walter  any  direct  account  of 
his  troubles,  but  now  he  yearned  for  some  advice  and  com- 
fort, and  went  to  Walter's  study,  not  to  complain,  but  to 
isk  if  Walter  thought  there  was  any  chance  of  his  father 


A    FAILING    IIEAKT.  80S 

removing  him  to  another  school,  because  he  felt  that  at 
St.  Winifred's  he  could  neither  be  happy  nor  in  any  waj 
succeed. 

"  Well,  Charlie  boy,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?"  said  Wal 
tcr,  cheerfully  pushing  away  the  Greek  Lexicon  and  Aris- 
tophanes over  which  he  was  engaged,  and  wheeling  round 
the  arm-chair  to  the  fire,  which  he  poked  till  there  was  a 
bright  blaze. 

"Am  I  disturbing  you  at  your  work,  Walter  I"  said  the 
little  boy,  whose  dejected  air  his  brother  had  not  noticed. 

"  No,  Charlie,  not  a  bit  ;  you  never  disturb  me.  I  was 
just  thinking  that  it  was  about  time  to  shut  up,  for  its  al- 
most too  dark  to  read,  and  we've  nearly  half  an  hour  be- 
fore tea  time  ;  so  come  here  and  sit  on  my  knee  and  have 
a  chat.     I  haven't  seen  you  for  an  age,  Charlie." 

Charlie  said  nothing,  but  he  was  in  a  weary  mood,  and 
was  glad  to  sit  on  his  brother's  knee  and  put  his  arm  round 
his  neck  ;  for  he  was  more  than  four  years  Walter's  junior, 
and  had  never  left  home  before,  and  that  night  the  home- 
sickness was  very  strongly  upon  him. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  Charlie  boy  ?"  asked  Walter, 
playfully.  "  What's  the  meaning  of  this  pale  face  and  red 
eyes  ?  I'm  afraid  you  haven't  found  St.  Winifred's  so  jolly 
as  you  expected  ;  disenchanted  already,  eh  ?" 

"  0  Walter,  I'm  very  very  miserable,"  said  Charlie,  over- 
come by  his  brother's  tender  manner  towards  him  ;  and 
leaning  his  head  on  Walter's  shoulder  he  sobbed  aloud 

"What  is  it,  Charlie  ?"  said  Walter,  gently  stroking  his 
light  hair.  "  Never  be  afraid  to  tell  me  anything.  You've 
done  nothing  wrong  I  hope." 

"  <)  no,  Walter.  It's  because  I  won't  do  wrong  that 
ihey  bully  me." 

"  Is  that  it  ?  Then  dry  your  tears,  Charlie  boy,  for  yoti 
may  thank  God,  and  nothing  in  earth  or  under  the  earth 


310  THE    TWO    BROTHERS. 

can  make  you  do  wrong  if  you  determine  not — determine  in 
the  right  way,  you  know,  Charlie." 

"  But  it's  so  hard,  Walter;  I  didn't  know  it  would  be  so  veiy 
hard.  The  house  is  so  bad,  and  no  one  helps  me  except  Bliss, 
I  don't  think  you  were  ever  troubled  as  I  am,  Walter." 

"  Never  mind.  Charlie.  Only  don't  go  wrong  whatever 
they  do  to  you.  You  don't  know  how  much  this  wilJ 
smooth  your  way  all  the  rest  of  your  school  life.  It's  quite 
true  what  you  say,  Charlie,  and  the  state  of  the  school  ia 
fur  worse  than  I  ever  knew  it ;  but  that's  all  the  more 
reason  we  should  do  our  duty,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  0  Walter,  but  I  know  they'll  make  me  do  wrong  some 
day.  I  wish  I  were  at  home.  I  wish  I  might  leave.  I 
get  thrashed  and  kicked  and  abused  every  night,  Walter, 
and  almost  all  night  Ions;." 

"  Do  you  ?"  asked  Walter,  in  angry  amazement.  "  I  knew 
that  you  were  rather  bullied — Eden  told  me  that— but  I 
never  knew  it  was  so  bad  as  you  say.  By  Jove,  Charlie,  1 
should  like  to  catfh  some  one  bullying  you,  and — well,  I'll 
warrant  that  he  shouldn't  do  it  again." 

"  Oh,  I  forgot,  Walter,  I  oughtn't  to  have  told  you  • 
they  made  me  promise  not.     Only  it  is  so  wretched." 

"  Never  mind,  my  poor  little  Charlie,"  said  Walter 
"  Do  what's  rigat  and  shame  the  devil.  I'll  see  if  I  can't 
devise  some  wfxy  of  helping  you  ;  but  anyhow,  hold  up  till 
the  end  of  term,  and  then  no  doubt  papa  will  take  you 
away  if  you  still  wish  it.  But  what  am  I  to  do  without 
you,  Charlie?" 

"  You're  a  dear,  dear  good  brother,"  said  Charlie,  grate- 
fully ;  "  and  but  for  you,  Walter,  I  should  have  given  in 
ong  ago," 

"No,  Charlie,  not  for  me,  but  for  a  truer  friend  than 
even  I  can  be,  though  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart.  Bui 
will  you  promise  me  one  thing  faithfully  ?" 


THE    TWO    BROTHERS.  311 

"  Yes,  that  I  will." 

"  Well,  promise  me  then  that,  do  what  tney  will,  they 
shan't  make  you  tell  a  lie,  or  do  anything  else  that  you 
know  to  be  wrong." 

"  I'll  promise  you,  Walter,  if  I  can,"  said  the  little  boy 
humbly  ;  "  but  I've  been  doing  my  best  for  a  long  time." 

"  You  couldn't  tell  a  lie,  Charlie  boy,  without  being 
found  out  ;  that  I  feel  sure  of,"  said  Walter,  smiling,  as  lie 
held  his  brother's  ingenuous  face  between  his  hands,  and 
looked  at  it.  "  I  don't  doubt  you  for  an  instant  ;  but  I'll  ' 
have  a  talk  with  Power  about  yon.  As  head  of  the  school 
he  may  be  able  to  do  something  perhaps.  It's  Kenrick's 
duty  properly,  but " 

"  Kenrick,  Walter  ?  He's  of  no  use  ;  he  lets  the  house 
do  just  as  it  likes,  and  I  think  he  must  have  taken  a  dis- 
like to  me,  for  he  turned  me  off  quite  roughly  from  being 
his  fag." 

"Never  mind  him  or  auy  one  else,  Charlie.  You're  a 
brave  little  fellow,  and  I'm  proud  of  you.  There's  the  tea 
bell  ;  come  in  with  me." 

"  Ah,  Walter,  it's  only  in  the  evenings  when  you're  away 
that  I  get  pitched  into.  If  I  were  but  in  the  same  house 
with  you,  how  jolly  it  would  be."  And  he  looked  wistfully 
after  his  brother  as  they  parted  at  the  door  of  the  hall,  and 
Walter  walked  up  to  the  chief  table  where  the  monitors 
sate,  while  ht  went  to  find  a  place  among  the  boys  in  his 
own  form  and  house.  He  found  that  they  had  poured  his 
tea  into  his  plate  over  his  bread  and  butter,  so  he  got  very 
little  to  eat  or  drink  that  evening. 

It  was  dark  as  they  streamed  out  after  tea  to  go  into  the 
preparation  room,  and  he  heard  Elgood's  tremulous  voice 
saying  to  him  "  0  Evson,  shall  you  give  way  to-night  and 
sign  ?" 

"  Why  to-night  in  particular,  Elgood  1"' 


312  ENCOURAGEMENT. 

"  Because  I've  heard  them  say  that  they're  going  to  have 
a  grand  gathering  to-night,  and  to  make  you,  and  me  too  : 
but  I  can't  hold  out  as  you  do,  Evsou." 

"  I  shall  try  not  to  give  way  ;  indeed,  I  won't  be  made 
to  tell  a  lie/'  said  Charlie,  thinking  of  his  interview  with 
Walter,  and  the  hopes  it  had  inspired. 

"Then /won't  either,"  said  Elgood,  plucking  up  courage 
"  But  we  shall  catch  it  awfully,  both  of  us." 

"  They  can't  do  more  than  lick  us,"  said  Charlie,  trying 
to  speak  cheerily,  "  and  I've  been  licked  so  often  that  I'm 
getting  accustomed  to  it." 

"  And  I'd  rather  be  licked,"  said  a  voice  beside  them, 
"  and  be  like  you  two  fellows,  than  escape  being  licked,  and 
be  like  Stone  and  Symes,  or  even  like  myself." 

"  Who's  that  ?"  asked  Elgood,  hastily,  for  it  was  not 
light  enough  to  see. 

"  Me — Hauley.  Don't  you  fellows  give  in  ;  it  will  only 
make  you  miserable  as  it  has  done  me." 

They  went  into  preparation,  which  was  succeeded  by 
chapel,  and  then  to  their  dormitories.  They  undressed  and 
got  into  bed  as  usual,  although  they  kuew  that  they  should 
very  soon  be  disturbed,  for  various  signs  told  them  that 
the  rest  had  some  task  in  hand.  Accordingly,  the  lights 
were  barely  put  out,  when  a  scout  was  posted,  the  candles 
were  re-lighted,  and  a  number  of  other  JNoelites,  headed  by 
Mackworth,  came  crowding  into  the  dormitory. 

"  Now  you,  No-thank-you,  you've  got  one  last  chance — 
here's  this  paper  for  you  to  sign  •  fellows  have  always 
wigned  it  before,  and  you  shall  too,  whether  you  like  or  no. 
We're  not  going  to  alter  our  rules  because  of  you.  We 
want  to  have  a  supper  again  in  a  day  or  two,  and  we 
2an't  have  you  sneaking  about  it."  Mackworth  was  the 
speaker. 

"I  don't  want  tc   sneak,"  said  Charlie,  firmly  ;  "you'v6 


ELGOOD.  313 

been  making  me  wretched,  and  kuocking  me  about  all  these 
weeks,  and  I've  never  told  of  you  yet." 

"  We  don't  want  any  orations  ;  only  Yes  or  No— will 
you  sign  ?" 

"  Stop,"  said  Wilton,  "  here's  another  fellow,  Mac,  who 
hasn't  signed  ;"  and  he  dragged  Elgood  out  of  bed  by  one 
arm. 

"  Oh,  you  haven't  signed,  haven't  you  ?  Well,  we  shall 
make  short  work  of  you.  Here's  the  pencil,  here's  the 
paper,  and  here's  the  place  for  your  name.  Now,  you  poor 
little  fool,  sign  without  giving  us  any  more  trouble." 

Elcood  trembled  and  hesitated. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Maekworth,  brutally  ;  "  I  don't  want 
to  break  such  a  butterfly  as  you  upon  the  wheel,  but — how 
do  you  like  that  ?"  He  drew  a  cane  from  behind  his  back, 
and  brought  it  down  sharply  on  Elgood's  knuckles,  who, 
turning  very  white,  sat  down  and  scrawled  his  name  hastily 
on  the  paper  ;  but  no  sooner  had  he  done  it  than,  looking 
up,  he  caught  Charlie's  pitying  glance  upon  him,  and  run- 
ning the  pencil  through  his  signature,  said  no  more,  but 
pushed  the  paper  hastily  away  and  cowered  down,  expect- 
ing another  blow,  while  Charlie  whispered  "  Courage." 

11  You  must  take  the  other  fellow  first,  Mac,  if  you  want 
to  get  on,"  suggested  Wilton.  "  Evson,  as  a  friend,  1  ad- 
vise you  not  to  refuse." 

11  As  a  friend!"  said  Charlie,  with  simple  scorn,  looking 
full  at  Wilton.  "  You  are  no  friend  of  mine  ;  and,  Wil 
ton,  I  wouldn't  even  now  change  places  with  you." 

"  Wouldn't  you  ! — Pitch  into  him,  Mac.  And  you,"  he 
said  to  Elgood,  "  you  may  wait  for  the  present."  He  ad- 
ministered a  backhander  to  Elgood  as  he  spoke,  and  the 
next  minute  Charlie,  roused  beyond  all  bearing,  had  knocked 
aim  down.  Twenty  times  before  he  would  have  been 
tempted  to  fight  Wilton,  if  he  could  have  reckoned  upon 

14 


314  COUBAOE. 

fair  play  :  but  wliat  lie  could  stand  in  his  own  person  w  as 
intolerable  to  him  to  witness  when  applied  to  another. 

Wilton  sprang  up  in  perfect  fury,  and  a  fight  began  ; 
but  Mackworth  at  once  pulled  Charlie  off,  and  said,  "  Fight 
him  another  time,  if  you  condescend  to  do  so,  Raven  ;  don'1 
you  see  now  that  it's  a  mere  dodge  of  his  to  get  off.  Now, 
No-thank-you,  the  time  has  come  for  deeds  ;  we've  had 
words  enough.  You  stand  there."  He  pushed  Charlie  in 
front  of  him.     "  Now,  will  you  sign  ?" 

"  Never,"  said  Charlie,  in  a  low  but  firm  tone 

"Then" 

"  Not  with  the  cane,  not  with  the  cane,  Mackworth,"  cried 
several  voices  in  agitation,  but  not  in  time  to  prevent  the 
cane  descending  with  heavy  hand  across  the  child's  back. 

Charlie's  was  one  of  those  fine,  nervous,  susceptible  tem- 
peraments, which  feel  every  physical  sensation,  and  every 
mental  emotion,  with  tenfold  severity.  During  the  whole 
of  this  scene,  so  painfully  anticipated,  in  which  he  had 
stood  alone  among  a  group  of  boys,  whose  sole  object  seemed 
to  be  to  show  their  hatred,  and  who  were  twice  as  strong 
as  himself,  his  feelings  had  been  highly  wrought  j  and 
though  he  had  had  many  opportunities  of  late  to  train  his 
delicate  organization  into  manly  endurance,  yet  the  sudden 
anguish  of  this  unexpected  blow  quite  conquered  him.  A 
thrilling  cry  broke  from  his  lips,  and  the  next  moment, 
when  the  cane  again  tore  his  shoulders,  a  fit  of  violent  hys- 
teria supervened,  which  alarmed  the  brutes  who  were  try- 
ing to  master  his  noble  resolution. 

And  at  this  crisis  the  door  burst  open  with  a  sudden 
crash,  and  Bliss  entered  in  a  state  of  burning  indignation, 
followed  more  slowly  by  Kenrick. 

"  Oh,  1  am  too  late,"  he  said,  stamping  his  foot ;  "  what 
ko,ve  you  been  doing  to  the  little  fellow  ?"  and  thrusting 
some  of  them  aside,  he  took  up  Charlie  in  his  arms,  and 


CHARLIE   PROSTRATED.  ol£ 

gradually  soothed  ard  calmed  him  till  his  wild  sobs  and 
laughter  were  hushed,  while  the  rest  looked  on  silent.  But 
feeling-  that  Charlie  shrank  as  though  a  touch  were  painful 
to  him,  Bliss  unbared  his  back,  and  the  two  blue  weals  all 
across  it  showed  him  what  had  been  done. 

"  Look  here,  Kenrick,"  he  said,  with  great  sternness,  as 
be  pointed  to  the  marks  ;  and  then,  laying  Charlie  gently 
down  on  his  bed,  he  thundered  out,  in  a  voice  shaken  with 
passion,  "  You  dogs,  could  you  look  on  and  allow  this  ? 
By  heavens,  Kenrick,  if  you  mean  to  suffer  this,  I  won't. 
Out  of  my  way,  you."  Scattering  the  rest  before  him  like  a 
flock  of  sheep,  he  seized  Mackworth  with  his  strong  hands, 
shook  him  violently  by  both  shoulders,  and  then  tearing 
the  cane  out  of  his  grasp,  he  demanded,  "  Was  it  you  who 
did  this  ?" 

"  What  are  you  about,  you  Bliss  ?"  said  Mackworth, 
with  very  ruffled  dignity.  "  Mind  what  you're  after,  and 
don't  make  such  a  row,  you  ass's  head,"  he  continued,  au- 
thoritatively, or  you'll  have  Noel  or  some  one  in  here." 

"  Ho  !  that's  your  tone,  you  cruel,  reprobate  bully,"  said 
Bliss,  supplied  by  indignation  with  an  unusual  flow  of 
words  ;  we've  had  enough  of  that,  and  too  much.  You 
can  look  at  poor  little  Evson  there,  and  not  sink  into  the 
very  earth  for  shame  !  By  heavens,  Belial,  you  shall  re- 
ceive what  you've  given.  I'll  beat  you  as  if  you  were  a 
dog.  Take  that."  The  cut  which  followed  showed  that 
he  was  in  desperate  earnest,  and  that  however  immovable 
he  might  generally  be,  it  was  by  no  means  safe  to  trifle 
with  him  in  such  a  mood  as  this.  Mackworth  tried  in  vaiu 
to  seize  the  cane  ;  Bliss  turned  him  round  and  round  as  if 
he  were  a  child  ;  and  as  it  was  quite  clear  that  he  did  not 
meau  to  have  done  with  him  just  yet,  Mackworth's  impu- 
dent bravado  was  changed  into  abject  terror  as  he  received 
*.  second  weighty  stroke,  so  heartily  administered  that  tho 


316  A    CONQUEROR. 

cane  bent  round  him,  in  the  hideous  way  which  cai.es  have, 
and  caught  him  a  blow  on  the  ribs. 

Mackworth  sprang  away,  and  fled,  howling  with  shama 
and  pain,  through  the  open  door,  but  not  until  Bliss  had 
given  him  two  more  blows  on  the  back,  with  one  of  the 
two  cutting  open  his  coat  from  the  collar  downwards,  with 
the  other  leaving  a  mark  at  least  as  black  as  that  which 
he  had  inflicted  on  the  defenceless  Charlie. 

"  To  your  rooms  the  rest  of  you  wretches,"  said  he,  as 
they  dispersed  in  every  direction  before  him.  "  Kenrick," 
he  continued,  brandishing  the  cane,  "  I  may  be  a  dolt,  as 
you've  called  me  before  now,  but  since  you  won't  do  your 
duty,  henceforth  I  will  do  it  for  you." 

Kenrick  slank  off,  half  afraid  that  Bliss  would  apply  the 
cane  to  him;  and,  speaking  in  a  tone  of  authority,  Bliss 
said  to  the  boys  in  the  dormitory,  "  If  one  of  you  hence- 
forth touch  a  hair  of  Evson's  head,  look  out  ;  you  know 
me.  You  little  scamp  and  scoundrel  Wilton,  take  especial 
?.are."  He  enforced  the  admonition  by  making  Wilton 
jump  with  a  little  rap  of  the  cane,  which  he  then  broke, 
and  flung  out  of  the  window.  And  then,  his  whole  manner 
changing  instantly  into  an  almost  womanly  tenderness,  he 
sate  by  poor  little  Charlie,  soothing  and  comforting  him 
till  his  hysterical  sobs  had  ceased  ;  and,  when  he  felt  sure 
that  the  ht  was  over,  gently  bade  him  good  night,  and 
went  out,  leaving  the  room  in  dense  silence,  which  no  one 
ventured  to  break  but  the  warm-hearted  little  Hauley,  who, 
going  to  Charlie's  bedside,  said — 
"  0,  Charlie,  are  you  hurt  much  ?" 
"  No,  not  very  much,  thank  you,  Hanley." 
llauley  pressed  his  hand,  and  said,  "You've  conquered, 
Charlie  ;  you've  held  out  to  the  end.  Oh,  I  wish  I  were 
'dice  von." 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY-FOURTH. 

A    CONSPIRACY    FOILED. 

V  7"ES,  Charlie  had  conquered,  thanks  to  the  grace  that 

V  sustained  him,   and  thanks,  secondarily,  to  a  good 
J-     home-training,  and  to  Walter's  strong  and  excellent 

Influence.  And  in  gaining  that  one  point  he  had  gained 
all.  No  one  dared  directly  to  molest  him  further,  and  he 
had  never  again  to  maintain  so  hard  a  struggle.  He  had 
resisted  the  beginnings  of  evil  ;  he  had  held  out  under  the, 
stress  of  persecution  ;  and  now  he  could  enjoy  the  smoother 
ami  brighter  waters  over  which  he  sailed. 

His  enemies  were  for  a  time  discomfited,  and  even  the 
hardy  Wilton  was  abashed.  For  a  week  or  two  there  was 
considerably  less  bravado  in  his  face  and  manner,  and  his 
influence  over  those  of  his  own  age  was  shaken.  That  little 
rap  of  the  cane  which  Bliss  had  given  him  had  a  most  salu- 
tary effect  in  diminishing  his  conceit.  Hanley  retracted  his 
promise  to  deny  all  knowledge  of  anything  wrong  that  went 
on,  and  openly  defied  Wilton  ;  even  Elgood  ceased  to  fear 
him.  Charlie  had  felt  iucliued  to  cut  him,  but,  with  gen- 
erous impulse,  he  forgave  all  that  was  past,  and,  keeping 
on  civil  terms  with  him,  did  all  he  could  to  draw  him  to 
'ess  crooked  paths. 

Mackworth  was  so  ashamed  that  he  hardly  ventured  to 
show  his  face.  He  had  always  made  Bliss  a  laughing- 
stock, and  nick-named  him  Ass's  Head,  and  had  taught 
others  to  jeer  at  his  backwardness.  He  had  presumed  on 
his  lazy  good  humor,  and  affected  to  patronize  and  look 
down  0.1  him.     An  eruption  in  a  long-extinct  volcano  could 

31T 


318  SALUTABY    SHAME. 

oot  have  surprised  him  more  tlmu  the  sudden  outburst  of 
Bliss's  wrath,  and  if  the  two  blows  which  he  had  received 
as  he  fled  before  him  in  sight  of  the  whole  house  had  been 
branded  on  his  back  with  a  hot  iron,  they  could  hardly 
have  caused  him  more  painful  humiliation.  For  some  time 
he  slank  about  like  a  whipped  puppy,  and  imagined,  not 
without  some  ground,  that  no  one  saw  him  without  an  incli- 
nation to  smile. 

Kenrick,  too,  had  reason  to  blush.  Every  one  knew 
that  it  was  Bliss,  and  not  he,  who  had  rescued  the  house 
from  attaching  to  its  name  another  indelible  disgrace  ;  and 
when  he  heard  the  monitors  and  sixth  form  talking  seriously 
among  themselves  of  the  bad  state  into  which  the  Noelites 
had  fallen,  he  felt  that  the  stigma  was  deserved,  and  that 
fie,  as  being  the  chief  cause  of  the  mischief,  must  wear  the 
brand. 

All  Kenrick's  faults  and  errors  had  had  their  root  in  an 
overweening  pride,  a  pride  which  grew  fast  upon  him,  and 
the  intensity  of  which  increased  in  proportion  as  it  grew  less 
and  less  justifiable.  But  now  he  had  suffered  a  salutary 
rebuke.  He  had  been  openly  blamed,  openly  slighted,  and 
openly  set  aside,  and  was  unable  to  gainsay  the  justice  of 
the  proceeding.  He  felt  that  with  every  boy  in  the  school, 
who  had  any  right  feeling,  Bliss  was  now  regarded  as  a 
more  upright  and  honorable — nay,  even  as  a  more  import- 
ant and  influential  person  than  himself.  Among  other 
mortifications,  it  galled  him  especially  to  hear  the  warm 
thanks  and  cordial  praise  which  Power  and  Walter  and 
Henderson  expressed,  when  first  they  happened  to  meet 
Bliss.  He  saw  Walter  wring  his  hand,  and  overheard  him 
saying  in  that  genial  tone  in  which  he  himself  had  once 
been  addressed  so  often — "  Thank  you,  Bliss,  a  thousand 
times  for  saving  my  dear  little  brother  from  the  hands  of 
Jicse  brutes.      Charlie  and   I  will  not  soon  forget  hjvr 


AMBITION    AROUSED.  319 

much  we  owe  you."  Walter  said  it  with  tears  in  hid  eyes, 
and  Bliss  answered,  with  a  happy  smile  :  "Don't  thank 
me,  Walter  ;  I  only  did  what  any  fellow  would  have  done 
who  was  worth  anything." 

"  And  you'll  look  after  Charlie  for  me  now  and  then 
wiil  you  ?" 

"  That  I  will,"  said  Bliss  ;  "  but  you  needn't  fear  for 
him — he's  a  hero,  a  regular  hero — that's  what  I  call  him, 
and  I'd  do  anything  for  him." 

So  Kenriek,  vexed  and  discontented,  almost  hid  himself 
in  those  days  in  his  own  study,  the  victim  of  that  most 
wearing  of  intolerable  and  sickening  diseases — a  sense  of 
shame.  Except  to  play  football  occasionally,  he  seldom 
left  his  room  or  took  any  exercise,  and  fell  into  a  dispirited, 
broken  way  of  life,  feeling  unhappy  and  alone.  He  had  no 
associates  now  except  his  inferiors,  for  his  conduct  had  for- 
feited the  regard  of  his  equals,  and  with  many  of  them  he 
was  at  open  feud.  The  only  pleasure  left  to  him  was  des- 
perately hard  work.  Not  only  was  he  stimulated  by  a  fiery 
ambition,  a  mad  desire  to  excel  in  the  half-year's  competi- 
tion, and  show  what  he  was  yet  capable  of,  and  so  to  some 
extent  redeem  his  unhappy  position,  but  also  his  heart  was 
fixed  on  getting,  if  possible,  the  chief  scholarship  of  St. 
Winifred's — a  scholarship  sufficiently  valuable  to  pay  the 
main  part  of  those  college  expenses  which  it  would  be 
otherwise  impossible  for  his  mother  to  bear.  He  feared, 
indeed,  that  he  had  little  or  no  chance  against  Power,  or 
even  against  Walter,  who  were  both  competitors,  but  ho 
ivould  not  give  up  all  hope.  His  abilities  were  of  the  most 
brilliant  order,  and  if  he  had  often  been  idle  at  St.  Wini 
fred's,  he  had,  on  the  other  hand,  ofteu  worked  exceedingly 
hard  during  the  holidays  at  Fuzby,  where,  unlike  other 
boys,  he  had  little  or  nothing  else  to  amuse  him.  Mr<?. 
Kenriek,  sitting  beside   him  silent  at  her  work  for  long 


320  AN    ATTACK. 

hours,  would  have  been  glad  indeed  to  see  in  him  more 
elasticity,  more  kindliness,  less  absorption  in  his  own  selfish 
pursuits  ;  but  she  rejoiced  that  at  home,  at  any  rate,  he 
did  not  waste  his  vacant  days  in  idleness,  or  spend  them  in 
questionable  amusements  and  undesirable  society. 

Almost  the  only  boy  of  whom  he  saw  much  now  was 
Wilton,  and  but  for  him,  I  do  believe,  that  in  those  days 
he  would  have  changed  his  whole  tone  of  thought  and  mode 
of  life. 

But  the  bad  set  at  St.  "Winifred's,  though  in  one  house 
their  influence  was  weakened,  were  determined  not  to  see 
it  wane  throughout  the  school.  Harpour  and  his  associ- 
ates organized  a  regular  conspiracy  against  the  monitors. 
When  the  first  light  snow  fell,  they  got  together  a  very 
large  number  of  fellows,  and  snowballed  all  the  monitors 
except  Kenrick,  as  they  came  out  of  morning  school.  The 
exception  was  very  much  to  Kenrick's  discredit,  and  in  his 
heart  he  felt  it  to  be  so  During  the  first  day  or  two  that 
this  lasted  the  monitors  took  it  good-humoredly,  returning 
the  snow-balls,  and  regarding  it  as  a  joke,  though  an  annoy- 
ing one  ;  but  when  it  became  more  serious,  when  some 
snow-balls  had  been  thrown  at  the  masters  also,  and  when 
Borne  of  the  worst  fellows  began  to  collect  snow-balls  before- 
hand and  harden  them  into  great  lumps  of  ice  as  hard  as 
stones,  and  when  Brown,  who  was  short-sighted,  and  was 
therefore  least  able  to  protect  himself,  had  received  a  seri- 
ous blow,  Power,  by  the  advice  of  the  rest,  put  up  a  notice 
that  from  that  time  the  snow-balling  must  cease,  or  the 
monitors  would  have  to  punish  the  boys  who  did  it.  This 
notice  the  school  tried  to  resist,  but  the  firmness  of  Power 
and  his  friends  put  a  stop  to  their  rebellion.  If  the  notice 
was  disregarded  he  determined,  by  Walter's  advice,  to 
seize  the  ringleaders,  and  not  notice  the  younger  boys  whom 
they  incited.     Accordingly  next  morning  they  found  the 


RINGLEADERS    CONFRONTED.  321 

school  gathered  as  usual,  in  spite  of  the  notice,  for  the 
purpose  of  pelting  them,  and,  saying  nothing,  they  kept 
their  eyes  on  the  biggest  fellows  in  the  group.  A  shower 
of  snow-balls  flew  among  them,  hitting  several  of  them, 
and,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  school,  knocking  o%'er 
several  hats  into  the  snow. 

"  Harpour,"  said  Walter,  very  sternly,  "  I  saw  you 
throw  a  snow-ball.  Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself  that 
you,  a  fellow  at  the  head  of  the  eleven,  should  set  such  a 
bad  example  ?  Don't  suppose  that  your  size  or  position 
shall  get  you  off.  Come  before  the  monitors  directly  after 
breakfast." 

"  Hanged  if  I  do,"  answered  Harpour,  with  a  sulky 
laugh. 

"  Well,  I  daresay  you  will  be  hanged  in  the  long  run," 
was  the  contemptuous  reply  ;  "  but  come,  or  else  take  the 
consequences." 

"  Tracy,"  said  Henderson,  "  I  saw  you  throw  a  snow- 
ball which  knocked  off  Power's  hat.  It  was  a  hard  ono 
too.     You  come  before  the  monitors  with  Harpour." 

"  I  shall  be  quaite  delaighted,"  drawled  out  Tracy. 

"  Glad  to  hear  it ;  I  hope  you'll  be  quaite  equally  de- 
laighted when  you  leave  us."  The  mimicry  was  so  per- 
fect that  all  the  boys  broke  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  which 
was  all  the  louder  because  Tracy  immediately  began  to 
chafe  and  "  smoke." 

"  And,  Jones,"  said  Power,  as  the  laugh  against  Tracy 

subsided,  "  I  think  I  saw  you  throw  a  snow-ball  and  hit 

Smythe.    I  strongly  suspect,  too,  that  you  were  the  fellow 

who  Jut  Brown  yesterday.     I  think  every  one  will  know, 

Jones,  why  you  chose  Smythe  and  Brown  to  pelt,  instead 

of  any  other  monitors.     You  too  come  to  the  sixth-form 

room  after  jreakfast." 

"  I  didr  .  throw  one,"  said  Jones. 

14* 


322  JONES    DOES    PENANCE. 

"  You  astounding  liar,"  said  Henderson,  "  I  saw  yon 
with  my  own  eyes." 

"  Oh,  aye  ;  of  course  you'll  say  so  to  spite  me." 
"  Spite  you,"  said  Henderson,  scornfully  ;  "  my  dear  fel- 
low, you  don't  enter  into  my  thoughts  at  all.  But  mark 
you,  Master  Jones,  I  know  moreover  that  you've  been  the 
chief  getter  up  of  this  precious  demonstration.  You  told 
the  fellows  that  you'd  lead  them.  I'm  not  sure  that  you 
didn't  quote  to  them  the  lines — 

'  Press  where  you  see  my  white  plume  shine  amid  the  ranks  of  war, 
And  be  your  oriflamme  to-day  the  helmet  of Jones.' " 

Another  peal  of  laughter  followed  this  allusion  to  Jones's 
well-known  nickname  of  white-feather,  a  nickname  earned 
by  many  acts  of  conspicuous  cowardice. 

"  Hush,  Flip,"  whispered  Power,  "  we  mustn't  make  this 
quite  a  joke.  "  Jones,"  he  continued  aloud,  "  do  you  deny 
throwing  a  snow-ball  just  now  at  Smythe  ?" 

"  I  didn't  throw  one,"  said  Jones,  turning  pale  as  he 
heard  the  hiss,  and  the  murmur  of  "  white  feather  again," 
which  followed  his  denial. 

"  Why,  what  a  pitiful,  wretched,  sneaking  coward  you 
are,"  burst  out  Franklin  ;  "  I  heard  you  egging  on  these 
fellows  to  pelt  the  monitors — they  wouldn't  have  done  it 
but  for  you  and  Harpour — and  I  saw  you  hit  Smythe  just 
now.  You  took  care  to  pelt  no  one  else,  and  now  you 
deny  it  before  all  of  us  who  saw  you.  TJpon  my  word, 
Jones,  I  feel  inclined  to  kick  you,  and  I  will  too." 

"  Stop,  Franklin,"  said  Walter,  laying  his  hands  on  his 
shoulder,  "  leave  him  to  us  now.  Do  you  still  deny  throw- 
ing, Jones  ?" 

"  Well,  it  was  only  just  a  little  piece  of  snow,"  said 
•Jones,  showing  in  his  blotched  face  every  other  contempt* 
ble  passion  fused  into  the  one  feeling  of  abject  fear. 


EATINO    THE    LEKK.  323 

"  Faugh  !"  said  Power,  with  scorn  and  disguat  curling 
his  lip  and  burning  in  his  glance  ;  "  really,  Jones,  you're 
almost  too  mean  and  nasty  to  have  any  dealings  with.  I 
don't  think  we  can  do  you  the  honor  of  convening  you. 
You  shall  apologise  to  Smythe  here  and  now,  and  that  shall 
be  enough  for  youP 

"  What  !  do  you  hesitate  ?"  said  Franklin  ;  "  you  don't 
know  when  you're  well  off.  Be  quick,  for  we  all  want  our 
breakfast." 

"  Never  mind  making  him  apologise,"  said  Smythe  ;  "  he?8 
sunk  quite  low  enough  already." 

"  It's  his  own  doing,"  said  Walter.  "  We  can't  have 
lies  like  his  told  without  a  blush  at  St.  Winifred's.  Apolo- 
gise he  must  and  shall." 

"  Don't  do  it,"  said  Mackworth. 

'•  What  !"  said  Henderson,  'Ms  that  Mackworth  speak- 
ing ?     Ah  !  I  thought  so — Bliss  isn't  here  1" 

Henderson's  manner  was  irresistibly  comic  ;  and  Mack- 
worth winced  and  slunk  back  to  the  very  outside  of  the 
crowd. 

"  Now  then,  Jones,  this  is  what  you  have  to  read."  said 
Walter,  who  had  been  writing  it  on  a  slip  of  paper — "  I 
humbly  beg  Smythe's  pardon  for  pelting  him,  and  the  par- 
ion  cf  all  present  for  my  abominable  lies." 

Jones  began  to  mumble  it  out,  but  there  arose  a  general 
shout  of — 

"  On  your  knees,  White-feather  ;  on  your  knees,  and 
much  louder." 

Franklin,  who  was  boiling  over  with  anger  and  contempt, 
sprang  forward,  took  Jones  by  the  neck,  and  forced  him 
on  his  knees  in  the  snow,  where  he  made  him  read  the 
apology,  and  then  let  him  loose.  A  shower  of  snow-balls 
followed  him  as  he  ran  to  the  refuse  of  the  breakfast- 
hall,  for  there  was  not  a  boy  present,  no  matter  to  what 


3'24  THE    HEAD    OF    THE    SCHOOL. 

faction  he  belonged,  who  did  not   feel  for  Jones  a  verv 
hearty  contempt. 

"I  hope  we  shall  have  no  more  of  this,  boys,"  said 
Power,  before  the  rest  dispersed.  ,!  There  have  been  mon- 
itors at  St.  Winifred's  for  a  hundred  years  now,  and  it's 
infinitely  better  for  the  school  that  there  should  be.  I  sup- 
pose you  would  hardly  prefer  to  be  at  the  mercy  of  such  a 
fellow  as  that,"  he  said,  pointing  in  the  direction  of  Jones's 
flight.  "  I  don't  know  why  we  should  be  unpopular 
amongst  you.  You  know  that  not  one  of  us  has  ever 
abused  his  authority,  or  behaved  otherwise  than  kindly  to 
you  all.  But  I  am  sorry  to  see  that  you  are  set  on — set 
on  by  fellows  who  ought  to  know  better.  Don't  suppose 
any  of  you  that  they  will  frighten  us  from  doing  what  we 
know  to  be  right,  or  that  you  can  intimidate  us  when  we 
are  acting  for  the  good  of  the  school." 

They  cheered  his  few  simple  words,  for  they  were  proud 
of  him  as  head-monitor.  They  had  never  had  at  St.  Wini- 
fred's a  better  scholar  or  a  more  honorable  boy  ;  and  though 
Harpour  and  his  friends  affected  to  sneer  at  him,  Power 
was  a  general  favorite,  and  the  firm  attitude  which  he  now 
assumed  increased  the  respect  and  admiration  which  he  had 
always  inspired. 

"  No  more  notice  will  be  taken  of  this,  you  little  fel- 
lows," said  Walter  to  the  crowd  of  smaller  boys  ;  "we  know 
very  well  that  you  have  merely  been  the  tools  iu  other 
hands,  and  that  is  why  we  only  singled  out  three  fellows. 
I  am  quite  sure  you  won't  behave  in  this  way  again  ;  but 
if  you  do,  remember  we  shan't  pass  it  over  so  lightly." 

"  Come  here  you,  Wilton,"  said  Henderson,  as  the  rest 
were  dispersing.  "  You've  been  particularly  busy,  I  see 
So  !  six  good  hard  snow-balls  in  your  jacket  pocket,  eh  ? 
Now,  you  just  employ  yourself  in  collecting  every  one  of 
these  suovv-balls  :hat  arc  lying  ready  here,  and  throw  thein 


wilton's  share.  325 

nlo  the  pond.  Don't  let  me  see  one  when  I  come  out.— 
Belial  junior  will  have  to  curtail  his  breakfast-time  this 
morning,  1  guess,"  he  continued  to  Whalley  ;  "  the  young 
fillain  1  shall  we  ever  bring  him  to  a  right  mind  ?" 

Wilton,  in  a  diabolical  frame  of  mind,  began  his  ap- 
pointed task,  and  had  just  finished  it  as  the  boys  came  out 
of  breakfast.  "  That  will  do,"  said  Henderson.  "  I  must 
trouble  you  for  one  minute  more.  Come  with  me."  Shak- 
ing with  cold  and  alarm,  Wilton  obeyed,  muttering  threats 
of  vengeance,  and  driven  almost  frantic  by  the  laughter 
with  which  Henderson  received  them.  He  walked  across 
to  the  sixth-form  room,  and  then  seeing  that  all  the  moni- 
tors were  assembled,  sent  him  "  to  tell  his  friends  Harpour 
and  Tracy,  that  their  presence  was  demanded  imme- 
diately." 

"  Never  mind,  Raven,"  said  Kenrick  to  him  ;  "  it's  a 
6hame  of  them  to  bully  yon." 

"  I  have  made  him  collect  some  snow-balls  which  he  had 
a  chief  hand  in  making,  and  with  one  of  which  yesterday  a 
monitor  was  seriously  hurt ;  then  I  have  sent  him  a  mes- 
sage for  two  worthless  fellows,  whose  counsels  he  generally 
follows  ;  both  of  which  tilings  I  have  done  to  teach  him  a 
mild  but  salutary  lesson.  Is  that  what  you  call  bul- 
lying ?" 

"  I  believe  you  spite  the  boy  because  you  know  I  like 
him.     It's  just  the  kind  of  conduct  worthy  of  you." 

"  If  it  gives  you  any  comfort  to  say  so,  Kenrick,  pray 
do  ;  but  let  me  tell  you,  that  after  the  way  you  have 
allowed  young  Evson  and  others  to  be  treated  in  your 
Douse,  the  charge  of  bullying  comes  with  singularly  ill 
grace  from  you." 

Au  angry  retort  sprang  to  Kenrick's  lips  ;  but  at  that 
moment  the  two  offenders  came  to  the  dcor,  and  Power 
said,  "  Hush,  you  two.     We  need  unity  now,  if  ever,  and 


326  BEFORE    THE    MONITORS. 

it  will  be  very  harmful  if  these  fellows  find  a  quairel  going 
on.     Keiirick,  I  wish  you  would  try  to  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  it's  always  Kenrick,  of  course,"  said  he,  an 
grily.  "  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  your  proceedings  ;" 
and,  rising  from  his  place,  he  flung  out  of  the  room,  noi 
&orrv  to  be  absent  from  a  scene  which  he  thought  might 
compromise  his  popularity  with  some  of  those  who  excepled 
him  from  the  list  of  the  monitors,  whom  they  professed  to 
consider  as  their  natural  enemies. 

Harpour  and  Tracy  had  thought  that  when  convened 
before  the  monitors  they  would  have  an  opportunity  for 
displaying  plenty  of  insolence  and  indifference  ;  but  when 
they  found  themselves  standing  in  the  presence  of  those  fif- 
teen upper  boys,  each  one  of  whom  was  in  all  respects  their 
superior,  all  their  courage  evaporated.  But  they  were  let 
off  very  easily.  The  monitors  were  content  with  the  com- 
plete triumph  they  had  gained  that  morning,  and  with  the 
disgrace  to  which  these  fellows  had  been  compelled  to  sub- 
mit. All  that  they  now  required  from  them  was  an  expres- 
sion of  regret  for  what  they  had  done,  and  a  promise  not  to 
offend  in  the  same  way  again  ;  and  when  these  had  been 
extorted,  they  were  dismissed  by  Power  with  some  good 
advice,  and  a  tolerably  stern  reprimand.  Power  did  this 
with  an  ease  and  force  which  moved  the  admiration  of  all 
his  brother  monitors  ;  no  one  could  have  clone  it  as  he  did 
it,  who  was  not  supported  by  the  authority  of  a  high  and 
staiuless  character  consistently  maintained.  What  he  said 
was  not  without  effect  ;  even  the  coarse,  burly  Harpour 
dared  not  look  up,  but  could  only  fix  his  eyes  on  the  floor 
and  kick  the  matting  in  sullen  wrath  while  this  virtuous 
and  noble  boy  looked  at  him  and  rebuked  him  ;  but  Tracy 
was  more  deeply  moved.  Tracy,  weak,  foolish,  and  feebly 
fast  as  he  was,  had  some  elements  of  good  and  gentlemanly 
feeling  in  him,  and,  with   more  wisely-chosen  associates 


TRACY  KECANT8.  32*< 

would  have  developed  a  much  less  contemptible  character 
When  Power  had  done  speaking,  he  looked  up  and  said, 
without  one  particle  of  his  usual  affectation  : 

"  I  really  am  sorry  for  helping  to  get  up  this  affair.  I 
see  I've  been  in  the  wrong,  and  I  beg  pardon  sincerely. 
You  may  depend  on  my  not  having  anything  more  to  do 
with  a  thing  of  this  kind." 

"  Thank  you,  Tracy,"  said  Walter  ;  "  that  was  spoken 
like  a  man.  We've  known  each  other  for  some  time  now, 
and  I  wish  we  could  get  on  more  unitedly.  You  might  do 
some  good  in  the  school  if  you  chose." 

"  Not  much,  I  am  afraid  now,"  said  Tracy,  "  but  I'll 
tr(ai)y." 

"  Well  then,  Tracy,  we'll  shake  hands  on  that  resolve, 
and  bygones  shall  be  bygones,"  said  Henderson.  "  You'll 
forgive  my  making  fun  of  you  this  morning." 

He  shook  hands  with  Henderson  and  with  Walter,  while 
Power,  holding  out  his  hand,  said,  smiling,  "  It's  never  too 
late  to  mend." 

"  No,"  said  Tracy,  looking  at  one  of  his  boots,  which  he 
had  a  habit  of  putting  out  before  the  other. 

"  He  applied  your  remark  to  his  boots,  Power,"  said 
Henderson,  laughing.  "  Did  you  observe  how  the  hole  in 
ane  of  them  distressed  him  ?" 

So  the  monitors  separated,  not  without  hopes  that  things 
yere  beginning  to  look  a  little  brighter  than  before. 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY-FIFTH 

THE    FINAL    FRACAS. 

HARPOUR,  and  all  who,  like  him,  had  long  been  en 
deavoring  to  undermine  the  authority  which  was  the 
only  safeguard  to  the  morality  of  the  school,  felt 
themselves  distinctly  baffled.  Mackworth  had  been  put  to 
utter  rout  by  Bliss,  and  though  he  was  almost  bursting 
with  dark  spite,  would  not  venture  to  do  much  ;  Jones  had 
become  a  perfect  joke  through  the  whole  school,  and  was 
constantly  having  white  hen's  feathers  and  goose-feathers 
enclosed  to  him  in  little  envelopes  until  he  was  half-mad 
v/ith  impotent  wrath  ;  Harpour  himself  had  been  made  very 
decidedly  to  swallow  the  leek  of  public  humiliation  ;  and  as 
for  Wilton,  he  began  to  feel  rather  small. 

Tracy  again  had  openly  deserted  them.  After  the  inter- 
view with  Power,  Harpour  had  abused  him  roundly  as  a 
turn-coat,  and  he  had  told  his  former  associates  that  he  was 
sorry  to  have  had  anything  to  do  with  their  machinations, 
that  they  were  going  all  wrong,  and  were  ruining  the 
school,  and  that  he  at  any  rate  felt  that  he  had  done  mis 
chief  enough  already,  and  meant  to  do  no  more.  This 
proof  of  their  failing  influence  exasperated  them  greatly. 
Harpour  threatened,  and  Mackworth  said  all  the  pungen* 
and  insulting  things  he  could,  contemptuously  mimicking 
all  Tracy's  dandiacal  affectations.  Tracy  winced  under  thia 
treatment ;  high  words  followed,  and  after  a  sceue  of  noisy 
altercation,  Tracy  broke  with  his  former  "  party,"  and  after 
the  quarrel  spoke  to  them  no  more. 

Dr.  Lane,  too,   had  now  recovered  from  his  fever,  and 


A    rOOK   OLD    WOMAN.  32(J 

returned  to  the  school.  When  the  reins  were  in  his  strong 
hands,  the  difference  was  soon  perceived.  The  abuses 
which  had  crept  in  during  his  absence  were  quietly  and 
firmly  rectified,  and  all  tendencies  to  insubordination  were 
repressed  with  a  stern  and  just  decision  which  it  was  im- 
possible to  gainsay  or  to  resist.  The  whole  aspect  of  things 
altered,  and,  lonely  as  he  was  among  the  Noelites,  even 
Charlie  Evson  began  to  like  St.  Winifred's  better,  and  to 
feel  more  at  home  in  its  precincts. 

Still,  those  who  were  rebelliously  inclined  were  deter- 
mined not  to  give  in  at  once,  and  anxiously  looked  out  for 
some  opportunity  in  which  they  could  have  Kenrick  on 
their  side.  If  they  could  but  secure  this,  they  felt  toler- 
ably confident  of  giving  the  monitors  a  rebuff,  and  of  car- 
rying with  them  that  numerous  body  in  the  school  who  had 
been  taught  under  their  training  to  resist  authority  on 
every  possible  occasion. 

The  opportunity  was  not  long  wanting.  One  fine  after- 
noon a  poor  old  woman  had  come  up  to  the  playground 
with  a  basket  of  trifles,  by  the  sale  of  which  she  hoped  to 
support  herself  during  the  unexpectedly  long  absence  of  a 
sailor  son.  Her  extreme  neatness  of  person,  and  her  quiet, 
respectable  manners,  had  interested  some  of  the  boys  in  her 
appearance  ;  and  when  she  came  up  to  sell  the  little  arti- 
cles, many  of  which  her  own  industry  had  made,  she  gene- 
rally found  ready  purchasers.  Walter,  who  knew  her  well, 
had  visited  her  cottage,  and  had  often  seen  the  sailor  boy 
on  whose  earnings  she  in  a  great  measure  depended.  This 
only  son  had  now  been  away  for  some  time  on  a  distant 
voyage,  and  the  poor  woman,  being  pressed  for  the  necessa- 
ries of  life,  took  her  basket  once  more  to  the  playground 
of  St.  Winifred's.  Charlie  had  often  heard  about  her  from 
Walter,  and  he  gladly  made  from  her  a  few  small  pur- 
chases, in  which  other  boys  followed  his  example.     While 


330  PETTY    LARCENl 

lie  was  doing  this,  he  distinctly  saw  one  of  the  Noelitcs— 
an  ill-conditioned  fellow  named  Penn — thrust  his  hand  iutn 
the  old  woman's  basket,  which  was  now  surrourded  by  a 
large  group  of  boys,  and  secrete  a  small  bottle  of  scent 
Charlie  waited  a  moment,  expecting  to  see  him  pay  for  it, 
but  Perm,  who  fancied  that  he  had  been  unobserved, 
dropped  it  quietly  into  his  pocket,  and  stood  looking  on 
with  an  innocent  and  indifferent  air. 

Instantly  Charlie's  indignation  knew  no  bounds.  He 
could  hardly  believe  his  own  eyes  ;  he  knew  that  a  few  of 
the  very  worst  in  the  school,  and  some  in  his  own  house  in 
particular,  would  regard  this  as  a  venial  offence. 

"  Penn,"  he  said,  in  a  loud  and  excited  voice,  not  doubt- 
ing that  the  sympathies  of  the  others  would  be  as  warm  as 
his  own,  "  Penn,  you  wicked  brute,  you  have  stolen  that 
bottle  of  scent,  Here,  Mrs.  Hart,  you  shan't  suffer  at  any 
rate,  if  there  is  a  fellow  so  base  and  wicked;"  and  he  at 
once  pulled  out  his  last  half-crown,  and  insisted  on  her  tak- 
ing it  in  payment  for  the  stolen  article. 

Penn,  for  the  moment,  was  quite  taken  aback  by  the 
scathing  flame  of  Charlie's  righteous  anger. 

"What's  all  this  about,  you  little  fool?  I  haven't 
bagged  anything." 

Charlie  was  still  more  amazed  ;  he  positively  could  not 
understand  a  great  brazen  lie  like  this,  and  yet  it  was  im- 
possible to  doubt  that  it  was  a  lie,  against  the  evidence  of 
his  own  senses. 

"  You  didn't  take  that  scent  bottle  ?  oh  !  how  can  voo 
tell  such  a  lie  ?     I  saw  you  with  my  own  eyes." 

"  What  do  I  care  for  you  or  your  eyes  ?"  was  the  only 
answer  which  Penn  vouchsafed  to  return. 

"  You're  always  flying  out  at  fellows  like  a  young  tur- 
key-cook, you  No-thank-you,"  said  Wilton.  "  Why  don't 
rou  thrash  him,  Penn,  for  his  coufounded  impudence  ?" 


THE   OLD   FIGHT.  33 J 

"  Thrash  him  yourself  if  you  like,  Raven  ;  I  don't  care 
the  snap  of  a  finger  for  what  he  says." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  No-thank-you,  by  charging  him 
with  bagging  the  thing  when  he  says  he  didn't  ?"  said 
Wilton  in  a  threatening  tone  to  Charlie  ;  and  as  Charlie 
took  no  notice,  he  enforced  the  question  by  a  slap  on  the 
cheek  ;  for  Wilton  had  old  grudges  against  Charlie  to 
pay  off. 

"  I  didn't  speak  to  you,  Wilton  ;  but  you  shan't  hit  me 
for  nothing  ;  you  force  me  to  fight  against  my  will,"  said 
Charlie,  returning  the  blow  ;  "  you  can't  say  that  I'm  doing 
it  to  get  off  anything  this  time,  as  you  did  once  before." 

A  long  and  desperate  fight  ensued  between  Charlie  ana 
Wilton  ;  too  long  and  too  desperate  in  the  opinion  of  seve- 
ral of  the  bystanders  ;  but  as  there  was  no  one  near  who 
had  any  authority,  nobody  liked  to  interfere.  So,  as  they 
were  very  equally  matched,  neither  of  the  combatants 
showed  the  least  sign  of  giving  in,  though  their  faces  and 
clothes  were  smeared  with  blood.  At  last  Henderson  and 
Whalley,  who  were  strolling  through  the  playground, 
caught  sight  of  the  crowd,  and  came  up  to  see  what  was 
the  matter. 

"  It's  a  fight,"  said  Henderson  ;  "  young  Evson  and 
Belial  junior  ;  I'd  much  rather  see  them  fight  than  see 
them  friends." 

"  Yes,  Flip  ;  but  they've  evidently  been  fighting  quite 
loug  enough  to  be  good  for  them.  You're  a  monitor — 
couldn't  you  see  if  they  ought  not  to  be  separated,  and 
shake  hands  ?" 

"  Hallo,  stop,  you  two,"  said  Henderson,  pushing  his 
way  into  the  crowd.  "  What's  all  this  about  ?  let's  Bee 
rbat  it's  all  right." 

"  It's  a  fair  fight,"  said  several  ;  "  you've  no  right  to 
Stop  it." 


332  TO    TIIE    POINT. 

"  I  won't  stop  it  unless  there's  good  reason,  though  ] 
think  its  gone  on  long  enough.     What  began  it  ?" 

"  No-thank-you  charged  Penn  with  " 

"  Who  is  No-thauk-you  ?"  asked  Whalley. 

"  Young  Evson,  then,"  said  Mackworth,  sulkily, 
"charged  Penn  with  bagging  a  scent-bottle  from  the  old 
woman's  basket,  and  then  he  was  impudent,  so  Wilton  was 
going  to  pitch  into  him." 

"  And  couldn't  manage  it,  apparently,"  said  Whalley  ; 
"  come,  you  two,  shake  hands  now." 

Charlie,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  frankly  held  out  his 
hand  ;  but  Wilton  said,  "  he'd  no  right  to  accuse  a  Noelite 
falsely  as  he  did." 

"  It  wasn't  falsely,"  said  Charlie  ;  "  I  saw  him  take  it, 
and  a  horrid  shame  it  was." 

"  Is  one  of  your  bottles  missing,  Mrs.  Hart  ?"  asked 
Whalley. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  but  now  young  Master  Evson  has  paid  for 
it,  and  I  don't  want  no  more  fighting  about  it,  sir,  please." 

"  Well,  my  good  woman,  there's  something  for  you," 
said  Henderson,  giving  her  a  shilling  ;  "  and  I  hope 
nobody  will  treat  you  so  badly  again  ;  you'd  better  go 
now.  And  now,  Penn,  if  you  didn't  take  the  bottle,  of 
course  you  won't  mind  being  searched." 

"  Of  course  I  shall,"  said  Penn,  edging  uneasily  away  to 
try  if  possible  to  get  rid  of  the  unlucky  bottle,  which  now 
felt  as  if  it  burned  his  pocket. 

"  Stay,  my  friend  1"  said  Whalley,  collaring  him  ;  "no 
shuffling  away,  if  you  please." 

"  What  the  devil  is  your  right  to  search  me  ?"  said 
Penn,  struggling  in  vain  under  Whalley's  grasp  ;  "  don't 
you  fellows  let  him  search  me." 

The  attention  of  all  was  now  fairly  diverted  from  the 
Sght,   which,  therefore,    remained   undecided  ;   while   the 


KENRICK    A    CHAMPION.  333 

Ooys,  especially  the  Noelites,  formed  an  angry  group 
round  Henderson  and  Whalley,  to  prevent  theiu,  if  possi- 
sible,  from  any  attempt  to  search  Penn.  Meanwhile, 
Beeing  that  something  was  going  on,  other  boys  cani6 
flocking  up  until  a  large  number  of  the  school  were  as- 
sembled there,  while  Whalley  still  kept  tight  hold  of  Penn, 
and  Henderson  watched  that  he  should  play  no  tricks 
the  Noelites  meantime  exclaiming  very  loudly  against  the 
supposed  infringement  of  their  abstract  rights. 

Kenrick  was  one  of  those  who  had  now  come  up  ;  and  as 
several  fellows  entreated  him  to  stick  up  for  his  own  house, 
and  not  to  let  Penn  be  searched,  he  worked  himself  into 
a  passion,  and  pushing  into  the  circle,  said  loudly,  "  You've 
no  right  to  search  him  ;  you  shan't  do  it." 

"Here's  the  head  of  the  school,  he  shall  decide  ;"  said 
Henderson,  as  Power  and  Walter  approached.  "  State 
your  own  case,  Kenrick." 

"  Well,  the  case  simply  is,  that  a  scent-bottle  has  been 
taken  from  Mrs.  Hart  ;  and  Penn  doesn't  see — nor  do  I — 
why  he  should  be  searched." 

"  Yon  haven't  mentioned  that  young  Evson  says  he  saw 
him  take  it." 

"  Why,  Charlie,  what  have  you  been  doing  ?"  said  Wal- 
ter, looking  at  his  brother's  bruised  and  smeared  face,  in 
surprise. 

"  Only  a  fight,"  said  Charlie  ;  "  I  couldn't  help  it, 
Walter  ;  Wilton  struck  mc  because  I  charged  Penn  with 
taking  the  bottle." 

"  Are  you  absolutely  certain  that  you  saw  him, 
Charlie  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  couldn't  possibly  be  mistaken." 

"  Well,  then,  clearly  Penn  must  be  searched,"  said 
Walter. 

"  But.  stop,"  said  Power  ;  ''  aren't  we  beginning  at  the 


334 


DETPXJTED. 


wrong  end  ?     Penn,  no  doubt,  if  we  ask  him  quietly,  will 
empty  his  pockets  for  our  satisfaction." 

"  No  I  won't,"  said  Penn,  who  was  now  dogged  and 
sullen. 

"  Well,  Kenrick  has  taken  your  part,  will  you  let  hiiu 
or  me  search  you  privately  ?" 

"  No  1" 

"  Then  search  him,  Henderson." 

Instantly  a  rapid  movement  took  place  among  the  boys 
as  though  to  prevent  this  ;  but  before  anything  could  be 
done,  Henderson  had  seized  Penn,  by  both  wrists,  and 
Whalley,  diving  a  hand  into  his  right  pocket,  drew  out 
and  held  up  a  little  ornamental  scent  bottle  ! 

This  decisive  proof  produced  for  a  moment  a  dead 
silence  among  the  loud  voices  raised  in  altercation  ;  and 
then  Power  said  : 

"  Penn,  you  are  convicted  of  lying  and  theft.  What  is 
St.  Winifred's  coming  to,  when  fellows  can  act  like  this? 
How  am  I  to  punish  him  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to  some  of 
the  monitors. 

"Here  and  now,  red-handed,  flagrante  delicto"  said 
Walter.     "  Some  of  these  lower  fellows  need  an  example." 

"  I  think  you  are  right.     Symes,  fetch  me  a  cane." 

"You  shan't  touch  him,"  said  Kenrick;  "you'd  no 
right  to  search  him,  in  the  first  place." 

"  I  mean  to  cane  him,  Kenrick.  Who  will  prevent 
me?" 

"  We  will,"  said  several  voices ;   among  which  Har 
pour's  and  Mack  worth's  were  prominent. 

"  You  mean  to  try  and  prevent  it  by  force  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  And  Kenrick,  you  abet  this  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Kenrick,  who  had  lost  all  self-control. 

"  I  shall  do  it,  nevertheless  ;  it  is  my  plain  duty." 


PUT   TO    THE    ROOT.  335 

"  Aud  I  recommend  you  all  not  to  interfere,"  said 
Walter  ;  '  for  it  must  and  shall  be  done." 

"  Harpour,"  said  Franklin,  "remember,  if  you  try  force, 
I  for  one  am  against  you  the  moment  you  stir." 

"  And  I,"  said  Bliss,  stepping  in  front  of  Power-;  "and 
J,"  said  Eden,  Cradock,  Anthony,  and  others — among 
whom  was  Tracy — taking  their  places  by  the  monitors,  and 
forming  a  firm  front  together. 

Symes  brought  the  cane.  Power  took  it,  and  another 
monitor  held  Penu  firmly  by  the  wrists.  At  the  first  stroke, 
some  of  the  biggest  fifth-form  fellows  made  a  rush  forward, 
but  they  were  flung  back,  and  could  not  break  the  line, 
while  Harpour  measured  his  full  length  on  the  turf  from 
the  effects  of  the  buffet  which  Franklin  dealt  him.  Keu- 
rick  was  among  those  who  pressed  forward  ;  and  then,  to 
his  surprise  and  shame,  Walter,  who  was  the  stronger  of 
the  two,  grasped  him  by  the  shoulder,  held  him  back,  and 
said  in  a  low  tone,  firm  yet  kind,  "  You  must  excuse  my 
doing  this,  Kenrick  ;  but  otherwise  you  might  suffer  for  it, 
and  I  think  you  will  thank  me  afterwards." 

Kenrick  was  astonished,  and  he  at  once  desisted.  Those 
were  the  first  and  only  words  which  Walter  had  spoken  to 
him,  the  only  time  Walter  had  touched  him,  for  nearly  three 
years  ;  and  in  spite  of  all  the  abuse,  calumny,  and  oppo- 
sition which  Walter  had  encountered  at  his  hands,  Ken- 
rick could  not  but  feel  that  they  were  wise  words,  prompted, 
like  the  action  itself,  by  the  spirit  of  true  kindness.  He 
said  nothing,  but  abruptly  turned  away  and  left  the 
ground. 

The  struggle  had  uot  lasted  a  moment,  and  it  was 
thoroughly  repulsed.  There  could  not  be  the  least  doubt 
of  that,  or  of  the  fact  that  those  who  were  on  the  side  of 
righteous  order  outnumbered  and  exceeded  in  strength 
the  turbulent  malcontents       Power   inflic'ed  on  Peun  a 


336  DESPKKATE. 

seve?e  caning  there  and  then.  The  attempt  to  prevent 
Lhis,  audacious  and  unparalleled  as  it  was,  afforded  by  its 
complete  failure  yet  another  proof  that  things  were  coming 
round,  aud  that  these  efforts  of  the  monitors  to  improve  the 
tone  of  the  lower  boys  would  tell  with  greater  and  greater 
force.  Even  the  character  of  the  Noelites  was  beginning 
to  improve  ;  in  that  bad  house  a  single  little  new  boy  had 
successfully  braved  an  organized  antagonism  to  all  that 
was  good,  and  by  his  victorious  virtuous  courage  had 
brought  over  others  to  the  side  of  right,  triumphing,  by 
the  mere  force  of  good  principle,  over  a  banded  multitude 
of  boys  far  older,  abler,  and  stronger  than  himself. 

So  that  now  Harpour,  Mackworth,  aud  Jones  were  con- 
fined more  and  more  to  their  own  society,  and  were  forced 
to  keep  their  misconduct  more  and  more  to  themselves. 
They  sullenly  admitted  that  they  were  foiled  and  thwarted, 
and  from  that  time  forward,  left  the  school  to  recover  as 
fast  as  it  could  from  their  vicious  influence.  Among  their 
other  consolations — -for  they  found  themselves  shunned  on 
all  sides — they  proposed  to  go  and  have  a  supper  at  Dan's. 
One  day,  before  the  events  last  narrated,  Power  had  seen 
them  go  in  there.  He  had  sent  for  them  at  once,  and  told 
.them  that  they  must  know  how  strictly  this  was  forbidden, 
what  a  wretch  Dan  was,  and  how  ruinous  such  visits  to 
his  cottage  must  be.  They  knew  well  that  if  he  informed 
of  them  they  would  be  instantly  expelled,  and  entreated 
him  with  great  earnestness  to  pass  it  over  this  time,  the 
more  so  because  they  had  no  notion  that  any  monitor 
would  ever  tell  of  them,  because,  since  he  had  been  a  monitor, 
Kenridc  had  accompanied  them  there.  Shocked  as  he  was  to 
hear  this,  it  had  determined  Power  not  to  report  them,  on 
the  condition,  which  he  made  known  to  the  other  monitors, 
and  of  which  he  specially  aud  pointedly  gave  warning  to 
Kenriek,  that  they  would  not  so  offend  agaiu.     This  pro 


HAUPOUK,  JONES    AND    MACKWORTH    EXPELLED.     337 

mise  they  wilfully  broke,  feeling  perfectly  secure,  because 
Dan's  collage  was  at  a  remote  and  lonely  part  of  the 
shore,  where  few  boys  ever  walked,  and  where  they  had 
very  little  chauce  of  being  seen,  if  they  took  the  precaution 
of  entering  by  a  back  gate.  But  within  a  week  of  Penn's 
thrashing,  Walter  was  strolling  near  the  cottage  with 
Eden  and  Charlie,  and  having  climbed  the  cliff  a  little  way 
to  pluck  for  Eden  (who  had  taken  to  botany)  a  flower  of 
the  yellow  horned  poppy  which  was  waving  there,  he  saw 
them  go  in  to  Dan's  door,  and  with  them — as  he  felt  sure 
— little  Wilton.  The  very  moment,  however,  that  he 
caught  sight  of  them,  the  fourth  boy,  seeing  him  on  the 
clifif,  had  taken  vigorously  to  his  heels  and  scrambled  away 
behind  the  rocks.  Walter  had  neither  the  wish  nor  the 
power  to  overtake  him,  and  as  he  had  not  so  much  seen 
"Wilton  as  inferred  with  tolerable  certainty  that  it  was  he, 
lie  only  reported  Harpour,  Mackworth,  and  Jones  to  Dr. 
Lane  ;  at  the  same  time  sending  for  Wilton  to  tell  him 
of  his  suspicion,  and  to  give  him  a  severe  and  earnest 
warning. 

Dr.  Lane,  on  the  best  possible  grounds,  had  repeatedly 
announced  that  he  would  expel  any  boy  who  had  any  deal- 
ings with  the  scoundrel  Dan.  He  was  not  likely  to  swerve 
from  that  declaration  in  any  case,  still  less  for  the  sake  of 
boys  whose  school  career  had  been  so  dishonorable  and 
reprobate  as  that  of  these  three  offenders.  They  were  all 
three  publicly  expelled  without  mercy  and  without  delay  ; 
and  they  departed,  carrying  with  them,  as  they  well 
deserved  to  do,  the  contempt  and  almost  the  execration  of 
the  great  majority  of  the  school. 

In  the  course  of  their  examination  before  the  head- 
master, Joues,  with  a  meanness  and  malice  thoroughly 
characteristic,  had  said  "  that  he  did  not  know  there  was 
any  harm  in  goiug  to  Dan's,  because  Kenrick,  one  of  the 

15 


338  BEFORE   DK.  LANE. 

monitors,  had  doue  the  same  thing."     At  the  time,  Dr 
Lane  had  contemptuously  silenced  him,  with  the  remark, 
'*  that  he  would  gain  nothing  by  turning  informer  ;"  but 
as  Dr.  Lane  was  always  kept  pretty  well  informed  of  all 
that  went  on  by  the  Famulus,  he  had  reason  to  suspect, 
and  even  to  know,  that  what  Jones  said   was  in  this  in- 
stance true.     He   knew,   too,  from  other  quarters,  how 
unsatisfactorily  Kenrick  had  been  going  on,  and  the  part 
he  had  taken  in  the  several  acts  of  insubordination  and  dis- 
obedience.    Accordiugly,  no  sooner  had  Harpour,  Jones, 
and  Mackworth  been  banished  from  St.  Winifred's,  than 
he  sent  for  Kenrick,  and  administered  to  him  a  reprimand 
so  uncompromising  and  stern,  that  Kenrick  never  forgot  it 
to  the  end  of  his  life.    After  upbraiding  him  for  those  many 
inconsistencies  and  follies,  which  had  forfeited  the  strong 
esteem  and  regard  which  he  once  felt  for  him,  he  pointed 
out  finally  how  he  was  wasting  his  school-life,  and  how 
little  his  knowledge  and  ability  could  redeem  his  neglect 
of  duty  and  betrayal  of  trust  ;  and  he  ended  by  saying, 
"  All   these   reasons,   Kenrick,   have   made   me   seriously 
doubt  whether  I  should  not  degrade  you  altogether  from 
your  position  of  monitor  and  head  of  a  house.     It  would 
be  a  strong  step,  but  not  stronger  than  you  deserve.    I  am 
alone  prevented  by  a  deep  and  sincere  wish  that  you  should 
yet  recover  from  your  fall  ;    and  that,  by  knowing  that 
some  slight  trust  is  still  reposed  in  you,  you  may  do  some- 
thing to  prove  yourself  worthy  of  that  trust,  and  to  regain 
our  confidence.     I  content  myself,  therefore,  with  putting 
you  from  your  present  place  to  the  lowest  on  the  list  of 
monitors — a  public  mark  of  my  displeasure,  which  I  am  sure 
you  will  feel  to  be  just ;  and  I  must  also  remove  you  from 
the  headship  of  your  house — a  post  which  I  grieve  to 
know  that  you  have  very  grievously  misused.     I  shall  put 
Whalley  ii»  your  place,  as  it  happens  that  no  monitor  can 


KENKICK    DEGBADKD.  339 

De  conveniently  spared.  He,  therefore,  is  now  the  head  of 
Mr.  Noel's  house  ;  and,  so  far,  you  will  be  amenable  to  his 
authority,  which,  I  hope,  you  will  not  attempt  to  resist." 

Kenrick,  very  full  of  bitter  thoughts,  hung  his  head,  and 
said  nothing.  To  know  Dr.  Lane  was  to  love  and  respect 
him  ;  and  this  poor  fatherless  boy  did  feel  very  great  pain 
to  have  incurred  his  anger. 

"  I  am  unwilling,  Kenrick,"  continued  the  Doctor,  "  to 
dismiss  you  without  adding  one  word  of  kindness.  You 
know,  my  dear  boy,  that  I  have  your  welfare  very  closely 
at  heart,  and  that  I  once  felt  for  you  a  warm  and  personal 
regard  ;  I  trust  that  I  may  yet  be  able  to  bestow  it  upon 
you  again.  Go  and  use  your  time  better  ;  remember  that 
you  are  a  monitoi  ;  remember  that  the  wellbeing  of  many 
others  depends  in  no  slight  measure  on  your  conscientious 
discharge  of  your  duties  ;  check  yourself  hi  a  career  which 
only  leads  fast  to  ruin;  and  thank  God,  Kenrick,  that 
you  are  not  actually  expelled  as  those  three  boys  have 
beeu,  but  that  you  have  still  time  and  opportunity  to 
amend,  and  to  win  again  the  character  you  once  had." 

Turned  out  of  his  headship  to  give  way  to  a  fifth-form 
boy,  turned  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  monitors,  poor 
Kenrick  felt  unspeakably  degraded  ;  but  he  was  forced  to 
endure  a  yet  more  bitter  mortification.  Before  going  to 
Dr.  Lane  he  had  received  a  message  that  he  was  wanted 
in  the  sixth-form  room,  and,  with  a  touch  of  his  old  pride, 
had  answered,  "  Tell  them  I  won't  come."  Hardly  had  he 
reached  his  own  study  after  leaving  the  Doctor,  when 
Henderson  entered  with  a  grave  face,  and  saying,  "  I  am 
sorry,  Kenrick,  to  be  the  bearer  of  this,"  handed  to  him  a 
folded  sheet  of  paper.  Opening  it,  he  found  that,  at  the 
monitors'  meeting  to  which  he  had  been  summoned,  an 
unanimous  vote  of  censure  had  been  passed  upon  him  in 
his  absence,  for  the  opposition  which  be  had  always  dis- 


340  THE   NAMES. 

played  against  his  colleagues,  and  for  the  disgraceful  part 
which  he  had  taken  in  attempting  to  coerce  them  by  force 
In  the  case  of  Penn.  The  document  concluded,  "We  are 
therefore  obliged,  though  with  great  and  real  reluctance, 
to  take  the  unusual  step  of  recording  in  the  monitors'  book 
this  vote  of  censure  against  Kenrick,  fourth  monitor,  for 
the  bad  example  he  has  set  and  the  great  harm  he  has 
done,  in  at  once  betraying  our  interests  and  violating  the 
first  conditions  on  which  he  received  his  own  authority  : 
and  we  do  this,  not  in  a  spirit  of  anger,  but  solely  in  the 
earnest  and  affectionate  hope  that  this  unanimous  con- 
demnation of  his  conduct  by  all  his  coadjutors  may  serve 
to  recall  him  to  a  sense  of  his  duty.'' 

Appended  were  the  names  of  all  the  monitors  ; — but 
no  ;  as  he  glanced  over  the  names  he  saw  that  one  was 
absent,  the  name  cf  Walter  Evson.  Evidently,  it  was 
not  because  Walter  disapproved  of  the  measure,  for,  had 
this  been  the  case,  Kenrick  knew  that  his  name  would  have 
appeared  at  the  end  as  a  formal  dissentient  ; — no,  the 
omission  of  his  name  was  due,  Kenrick  saw,  to  that  same 
high  reserve,  and  delicate,  courteous  consideration  which 
had  marked  the  whole  of  Walter's  behavior  to  him  since 
the  day  of  their  disastrous  quarrel. 

Kenrick  appreciated  this  delicacy,  and  his  eyes  were 
suffused  with  tears.  Wilton,  somewhat  cowed  by  recent 
occurrences,  was  the  only  boy  in  his  study  at  the  time,  and 
though  Kenrick  would  have  been  glad  to  have  some  one 
near  him,  to  whom  he  could  talk  of  the  disgraces  which 
had  fallen  so  heavily  upon  him,  and  to  whom  he  could  look 
for  a  little  sympathy  and  counsel,  yet  to  Wilton  he  felt  no 
inclination  to  be  at  all  communicative.  There  was,  indeed, 
something  about  Wilton  which  he  could  not  help  liking, 
6ut  there  was  and  could  be  no  sort  of  equality  between 
them. 


THK    LOST    HERODOTUS.  34 J 

"  Ken,"  said  Wilton,  "  do  you  remember  telling  me  the 
other  day  that  I  was  shedding  crocodile  tears? — what  are 
crocodile  tears  ?     I've  always  been  wanting  to  ask  you." 

"  It's  just  a  phrase,  Ra,  for  sham  tears  ;  and  it  was 
very  rude  of  me,  wasn't  it  ?  Herodotus  says  something 
about  crocodiles  ;  perhaps  he'll  explain  it  for  us.  I'd  look 
and  see  if  I  had  my  Herodotus  here,  but  I  lost  it  nearly 
three  years  ago." 

By  one  of  those  curious  coincidences,  which  look  strange 
in  books,  but  which  happen  daily  in  common  life,  Tracy  at 
this  moment  entered  with  the  lost  Herodotus  in  his  hand, 
saying— 

"  Kenrick,  I  happened  to  be  hunting  out  the  class-room 
cupboard  just  now  for  a  book  I'd  mislaid,  when  I  fouud  a 
book  with  your  name  in  it — an  Herodotus  ;  so  I  thought 
I'd  bring  it  you." 

"  By  Jove  !"  said  Wilton,  "  talk  of" 

"  Herodotus,  and  he'll  appear,"  said  Kenrick  ;  "  how 
very  odd.  It's  mine,  sure  enough.  I  lost  it,  as  I  was  just 
telling  Wilton,  I  don't  know  how  long  ago.  Now,  Raven, 
I'll  find  you  all  he  says  about  crocodiles." 

"  Before  you  look,  may  I  tell  you  something  ?"  asked 
Tracy.     "  I  wanted  an  opportunity  to  speak  with  you." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Do  you  mind  coming  out  into  the  court,  then  ?"  said 
Tracy,  glancing  at  Wilton. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  me,"  said  Wilton  ;  "  I'll  go  out." 

"  I  shan't  be  a  minute,"  said  Tracy,  "  and  then  you  can 
come  back.  What  I  wanted  to  say,  Kenrick,  was  only 
this,  and  it  was  a  great  shame  of  me  not  to  tell  yon  before  ; 
but  I  see  now  that  I've  been  a  poor  tool  in  the  hands  of 
those  fellows  Jones  made  you  believe,  you  know,  thai 
Evsou  had  told  him  all  about  your  home  affairs,  and  abonl 
the  pony-chaise,  and  so  on,"  said  Tracy,  hurrying  over  the. 
obnoxious  subject. 


342  DISABUSED    AT   LAST. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Kenrick,  impatiently. 

"  Well,  he  never  did,  you  know.  I've  heard  Jones  con- 
fess it  often  with  his  own  lips." 

"  How  can  I  believe  him  in  one  lie  more  than  another, 
then  ?  I  believe  the  fellow  couldn't  open  his  lips  without 
a  lie  flying  out  of  them.  How  could  Jones  possibly  have 
known  about  it  any  other  way  ?  There  was  only  one  fel- 
low who  could  have  told  him,  and  that  was  Evson,  Evson 
must  have  told  me  a  lie  when  he  said  that  he'd  mentioned 
it  to  no  one  but  Power." 

"  I  don't  believe  Evson  ever  told  a  lie  in  his  life,"  said 
Tracy.  "  However,  I  can  explain  your  difficulty  ;  Jones 
was  in  the  same  train  as  Evson  ;  he  saw  you  and  him  ride 
home  ;  and,  staying  at  Littleton,  the  next  town  to  where 
you  live,  he  heard  all  about  you  there.  I've  heard  him 
say  so." 

"  The  black-hearted  brute  !"  was  all  that  Kenrick  could 
ejaculate,  as  he  paced  up  and  down  his  study  with  agitated 
steps.  "  0  Tracy,  what  an  utter,  utter  ass,  and  fool,  and 
wretch,  I've  been." 

"  So  have  I,"  said  Tracy  ;  "  but  I'm  sorry  now,  and 
hope  to  improve.  Better  late  than  never.  Good  morning, 
Kenrick." 

When  Wilton  returned  to  the  study  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  after,  he  found  Kenriek's  attention  riveted  by  a  note 
which  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  which  he  seemed  to  be 
reading  with  his  whole  soul.  So  absorbed  was  he  that  he 
was  not  even  disturbed  by  Wilton's  entrance.  Listlessly 
timing  over  the  pages  of  his  Herodotus,  to  divert  his 
painful  thoughts  by  looking  for  the  passage  about  the  cro- 
codiles, Kenrick  had  found  an  old  note  directed  to  himself 
Painful  thoughts,  it  seems,  were  to  give  him  no  respite 
that  day  ;  how  well  he  knew  that  handwriting,  altered  a 
little  now,  more  firm  and  mature,  but  even  then  a  good, 
though  a  boyish  hand.     He  tore  it  open  ;  it  was  datec4 


THE    LONG    LOST    NOTE.  343 

three  years  back,  and  signed  Walter  Evson.  It  was  the 
long  lost  note  in  which  Walter,  once  or  twice  rebuffed,  had 
frankly  and  even  earnestly  asked  pardon  for  any  supposed 
fault,  and  begged  for  an  immediate  reconciliation  ; — the 
very  note  which  Walter  of  course  imagined  that  Kenrick 
had  received,  and  from  his  not  taking  any  notice  of  it,  in- 
ferred, that  all  hope  of  renewing  their  friendship  was  finally 
at  an  end.  Kenrick  could  not  help  thinking  how  very 
different  a  great  part  of  his  school-life  would  have  been, 
had  that  note  but  come  to  hand  ! 

He  saw  it  all  now  as  clearly  as  possible — his  haste,  his 
rash  and  false  inferences,  his  foolish  jealousy,  his  impetuous 
pride,  his  quick  degeneracy,  all  the  mischief  he  had  caused, 
all  the  folly  he  had  done,  all  the  time  he  had  wasted.  Dis- 
graced, degraded,  despised  by  the  best  fellows  in  the 
school,  censured  unanimously  by  his  colleagues,  given  up 
by  masters  whom  he  respected,  without  a  single  true  friend, 
grievously  and  hopelessly  in  the  wrong  from  the  very  com- 
mencement, he  now  felt  bowed  down  and  conqiwed,  and,  to 
Wilton's  amazement,  he  laid  his  head  upon  his  arms  on  the 
table  before  him  without  saying  a  word,  and  broke  into  a 
heavy  sob.  If  his  conscience  had  not  declared  against  him, 
he  could  have  borne  everything  else  ;  but  wheu  conscience 
is  our  enemy,  there  is  no  chance  of  a  mind  at  ease.  Ken- 
rick sate  there  miserable  and  self-condemned  ;  he  had  in- 
jured his  friend,  injured  his  fellows,  and  injured,  most 
deeply  of  all,  himself.     For,  as  the  poet  sings  : 

"  He  that  wrongs  his  friend, 
Wrongs  himself  more  ;   and  ever  bears  about 
A  silent  court  of  justice  in  his  breast; 
Himself  the  judge  and  jury,  and  himself 
The  prisoner  at  the  bar,  ever  condemned 
And  that  drags  down  his  life." 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY- SIXTH. 

IN    THE    DEPTHS. 

IT  may  be  thought  strange  that  Kenrick  did  not  at  oucOj 
while  his  heart  was  softened,  and  when  he  saw  so 
clearly  how  much  he  had  erred,  go  there  and  then  to 
Walter,  confess  to  him  that  everything  was  now  explained, 
that  he  had  never  received  his  last  note,  and  that,  for  his 
own  sake,  he  desired  to  be  restored,  as  far  as  was  possible, 
to  his  former  footing.  If  that  had  not  been  for  Kenrick 
a  period  of  depression  and  ill-repute,  he  would  undoubt- 
edly have  done  so  ;  but  he  did  not  like  to  go,  now  that  he 
was  in  disgrace,  now  that  his  friendship  could  do  no  credit, 
and,  as  he  feared,  confer  no  pleasure  on  any  one,  and  uu- 
der  circumstances  which  would  make  it  appear  that  he  had 
changed  his  views  under  the  influence  of  selfish  interest, 
rather  than  of  true  conviction  or  generous  impulse.  He 
thought,  too,  that  friendship  over  was  like  water  spilt,  and 
could  not  be  gathered  up  again  ;  that  it  was  like  a  brokeu 
thread  which  cannot  again  be  smoothly  re-united.  So 
things  remained  on  the  same  footing  as  before,  except  that 
Kenrick's  whole  demeanor  was  changed  for  the  better. 
He  bore  his  punishment  in  a  quiet  and  manly  way  ;  took 
his  place  without  a  murmur  below  Henderson  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  monitors  ;  did  not  by  any  bravado  attempt  to 
conceal  that  he  felt  justly  humiliated,  and  gave  Whalley 
his  best  assistance  in  governing  the  Noelites  and  bringing 
them  back  oy  slow  but  sure  degrees  to  a  Detter  tone  of 
thought  and  feeling.  Towards  Walter  especially  his  whole 
manner  altered.     Hitherto  he  had  made  a  point  of  always 

311 


RECANTATION.  345 

opposing  him,  and  taking  every  opportunity  to  show  him  a 
strong  dislike.  If  Walter  had  embraced  one  opinion  at  a 
monitor's  meeting  it  was  quite  sufficient  reason  for  Kenrick 
to  support  another  ;  if  Walter  had  spoken  on  one  side  at 
the  debating  society,  Kenrick  held  it  to  be  a  logical  conse- 
quence that,  whatever  he  thought,  he  should  speak  on  the 
other,  and  use  his  powers  of  speaking,  which  were  consider- 
able, to  throw  on  Walter's  illustrations  and  arguments  all 
the  ridicule  he  could.  All  this  folly  and  virulence  was  now 
abandoned  ;  the  swagger  which  Kenrick  had  adopted  was 
from  that  time  entirely  laid  aside.  At  the  very  next  meet- 
ing of  the  debating  society  he  spoke,  as  indeed  he  generally 
thought,  on  the  same  side  with  Walter  ;  and  spoke,  not  in 
his  usual  flippant  conceited  style,  but  more  seriously  and 
earnestly,  treating  Walter's  speech  with  approval  and  al- 
most with  deference.  Every  one  noticed  and  rejoiced  in 
this  change  of  manner,  and  none  more  so  than  Walter  Ev- 
son  and  Power. 

Kenrick  finished  with  these  words — "Gentlemen,  before 
I  sit  down  I  have  a  task  to  perform,  which,  however  pain 
ful  it  may  be  to  me,  it  is  due  to  you  that  I  should  not  neg- 
lect. I  may  do  it  now,  because  I  see  that  none  but  the 
sixth  form  are  present,  and  because  I  may  not  have  another 
early  opportunity,  I  have  incurred,  as  you  are  all  well 
aware,  a  unanimous  vote  of  censure  from  my  colleagues — 
unanimous,  although,  through  a  delicacy  which  I  am  thank- 
ful to  be  still  capable  of  keenly  appreciating,  the  name  of 
one"  .  .  .  the  word  "friend"  spraug  to  his  lips,  but  humi- 
lity forbade  him  to  adopt,  and  he  said,  ..."  the  name  of 
one  monitor  is  absent  from  the  appended  signatures.  Gen- 
dorneu,  1  do  not  like  public  recantations  or  public  profes- 
sions, but  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  acknowledge  without  pallia- 
tion that  I  feel  the  censure  to  have  been  deserved."  His 
coiee    faltered  with  emotion  as  he  proceeded.     "  1  havf 

15* 


3-iG  THE    MONITOR'S    MEETING. 

been  misled,  gentlemen,  and  I  have  been  laboring  for  a  long 
time  under  a  grievous  mistake,  which  has  led  me  to  do 
much  injustice  and  inflict  many  wrongs  ;  for  these  errors 
I  now  ask  the  pardon  of  all,  and  especially  of  those  who 
are  most  concerned.  Your  censure,  gentlemen,  concluded 
with  a  kind  and  friendly  wish,  and  I  cannot  trust  myself 
to  say  more  now,  than  to  echo  that  wish  with  all  my  heart, 
and  to  hope  that  ere  long  the  efforts  which  I  shall  endeavor 
to  make  may  succeed  in  persuading  you  to  give  me  back 
your  confidence  and  esteem,  and  to  erase  from  the  book  the 
permanent  record  of  your  recent  disapproval." 

Every  one  present  felt  how  great  must  have  been  the 
suffering  which  could  wring  such  an  expression  of  regret 
from  a  nature  so  proud  as  Kenrick's.  They  listened  in 
silence,  and  when  he  sat  down  greeted  him  with  an  ap- 
plause which  showed  how  readily  he  might  win  their  regard  ; 
while  many  of  them  came  round  him  and  shook  hands  with 
warmth. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Power,  rising,  "  I  am  sure  we  all  feel 
that  the  remarks  we  have  just  heard  do  honor  to  the 
speaker.  I  hold  in  my  hand  the  monitors'  book,  open  on 
the  page  on  which  cur  censure  was  written.  After  what 
we  have  heard  there  can  be  no  necessity  why  that  page 
should  remain  where  it  is  for  a  single  day.  I  beg  to  move 
that  leave  may  be  given  me  to  tear  it  out  at  once." 

"  And  I  am  eager  to  second  the  motion,"  said  Hender- 
son, starting  up  at  the  same  moment  with  several  others  ; 
"  and,  Kenrick— if  I  may  break  through,  on  such  an  oc- 
casion as  this,  our  ordinary  forms,  and  address  you  by 
rams — I  am  sure  you  will  believe  that  though  I  have  very 
often  opposed  you,  no  one  will  be  more  glad  than  myself 
to  welcome  you  back  as  a  friend,  and  to  hope  that  you  may 
soou  be,  what  you  are  so  capable  of  bekig,  not  only  our 
greatest  support,  but  also  one  of  the  brightest  ornameuts 


REFORMATION.  347 

of  oui  body."  He  held  out  his  hand,  tthich  Kenrick  read- 
ilj  grasped,  whispering,  with  a  sigh,  "Ah,  Flip,  how  1 
wish  that  we  had  never  broken  with  each  other  !" 

The  proposal  was  carried  by  acclamation,  and  Power  ac- 
cordingly tore  out  the  sheet  and  put  it  in  the  fire.  And 
that  night  brightened  for  Kenrick  into  the  dawn  of  better 
days.  Twenty  times  over  Walter  thought  that  Kenrick 
was  going  to  speak  to  him — for  his  manner  was  quite  differ- 
ent ;  but  Kenrick,  though  every  particle  of  ill-will  had 
vanished  from  his  mind,  and  had  been  replaced  by  his  old 
unimpaired  affection,  put  off  the  "reconciliation  until  he 
should  have  been  able  in  some  measure  to  recover  his  old 
position,  and  to  meet  his  friend  on  a  footing  of  greater 
equality. 

Do  not  let  any  one  think  that  his  reformation  was  too 
easy  It  took  him  long  to  conquer  himself,  and  he  found  the 
task  sorely  difficult  ;  but  after  many  failures  and  relapses, 
the  words  of  another  who  had  sinned  and  suffered  three 
thousand  years  ago,  and  who,  after  many  a  straggle,  had 
discovered  the  true  secret,  came  home  to  Kenrick  and  whis- 
pered to  him  the  message — "  Then  I  said,  It  is  my  own  in- 
firmity :  but  I  will  remember  the  years  of  the  right  hand  of 
the  Most  Highest." 

It  was  not  long  before  one  great  difficulty  confronted  him, 

the  consequence  of  former  misdeeds,  and  put  him  under 

circumstances  which   demanded  the  whole  courage  of  his 

diaracter,  and  thoroughly  tested  the  sincerity  of  his  vp- 

>entauce. 

Aft*  Mackworth's  expulsion,  and  under  Whalley's  good 
government,  the  state  of  the  Noelites  greatly  improved 
Charlie  Evson,  for  whom,  now,  by  the  bye,  Kenrick  always 
did  everything  that  lay  in  his  power,  became  far  more  a 
model  amoug  younger  boys  than  Wilton  had  ever  been, 
ind  there  was  a  final  end  of  suppers,  smoking  parties,  or 


348  A    NEW    TROUBLE. 

ganised  cribbing,  and  recognised  "  crams."  lint  just  as  the 
house  was  recovering  lost  ground,  and  had  ceased  to  be 
quite  a  byeword  in  the  school,  it  was  thrown  into  conster- 
uation  by  a  long  continued  series  of  petty  thefts. 

Small  sums  were  extracted  from  the  boys'  jacket  pockets 
after  they  had  gone  to  bed  ;  from  the  play  boxes  which 
were  not  provided  with  good  locks  and  keys  ;  from  the  pri- 
vate desks  in  the  class-rooms,  from  the  dormitories,  ami 
from  several  of  the  studies.  There  was  uo  clue  to  the  of 
fender,  and  first  of  all  suspicion  fell  strongly  on  the  new 
boy,  little  Elgood.  A  few  trifling  items  of  circumstantial 
evidence  seemed  to  point  him  out,  and  it  began  to  be  gra- 
dually whispered,  no  one  exactly  knew  how  or  by  whom, 
that  he  must  be  the  guilty  boy.  Hiuts  were  thrown  out 
to  him  to  this  effect  ;  little  bits  of  paper,  on  which  were 
written  the  words  "  Thou  shalt  not  steal,"  or  "  The  devil 
will  have  thieves,"  were  dropped  about  in  his  books  and 
wherever  he  was  likely  to  find  them,  and  whenever  the 
subject  was  brought  ou  the  tapis  his  manner  was  closely 
watched.  The  effect  was  unsatisfactory  ;  for  Elgood  was 
a  timid  nervous  boy,  and  the  uneasiness  to  which  this  nerv- 
ousness gave  rise  was  set  down  as  a  sign  of  guilt.  At 
length  a  sovereign  and  a  half  were  stolen  out  of  Whalley's 
study,  and  as  Elgood,  being  Whalley's  fag,  had  constant 
aceess  to  the  study,  and  might  very  well  have  known  that 
Whalley  had  the  money,  and  in  what  place  he  kept  it,  the 
prevalent  suspicions  were  confirmed.  The  boys,  with  their 
usual  thoughtless  haste,  leapt  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
must  have  been  the  thief. 

The  house  was  in  a  perfect  ferment.  However  lightly 
oue  or  two  of  them,  like  Penn,  may  have  thought  about 
taking  trifles  from  small  tradesmen,  there  was  not  a  single 
one  among  them,  not  even  Pena  himself,  whose  morality 
did  uot  braud  this  thieving  from  school-fellows  as  wicked 


ELGOOD    UNDKR    SUSPICION.  349 

and  mean.  The  boys  felt,  too,  that  it  was  a  stigma  on 
their  house,  and  unhappily  just  at  the  time  when  the  ma- 
jority were  really  anxious  to  raise  their  corporate  reputa- 
tion. Every  one  was  filled  with  annoyance  and  disgust, 
and  felt  an  anxious  determination  to  discover  and  give  up. 
Ihe  thief. 

At  last  the  suspicions  against  Elgood  proceeded  so  far, 
that  out  of  mere  justice  to  him,  the  heads  of  the  house, 
Whalley,  Kenrick,  and  Uliss,  thought  it  right  that  he 
should  be  questioned.  So,  after  tea,  all  the  house  assem- 
bled in  the  class-room,  and  Elgood  was  formally  charged 
with  the  delinquency,  and  questioned  about  it,  Wilton,  in 
particular,  urging  him  in  almost  a  bullying  tone  to  sur- 
render and  confess.  The  poor  child  was  overwhelmed  with 
terror — cried,  blushed,  answered  incoherently,  and  lost  his 
head,  but  would  not  for  a  moment  confess  that  he  had 
done  it,  and  protested  his  innocence  with  many  sobs  and 
tears. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  if  he  persists  in  denying  it,  we  can't 
go  any  further,"  said  Kenrick  ;  "  but  I  am  afraid,  Elgood, 
Chat  you  must  have  had  something  to  do  with  it,  as  every 
one  seems  to  see  ground  for  suspecting  you." 

"  Oh,  I  hadn't,  I  hadn't  ;  indeed  I  hadn't,"  wailed  El- 
good ;  "  1  wish  you  would'nt  say  so,  Kenrick  ;  indeed  I'm 
innocent,  and  I'd  rather  write  home  for  the  money  ten 
times  over  than  be  suspected." 

"  So  would  any  one,  you  little  fool,"  said  Wilton. 

"  Don't  bully  him  in  that  way,  Wilton,"  said  Whalley  ; 
"  it's  not  the  way  to  get  the  truth  out  of  him.  Elgood,  I 
should  have  thought  you  innocent,  if  you  didn't  behave  so 
oddly." 

"  May  I  speak  ?"  modestly  asked  a  new  voice.  Thf 
speaker  was  Charlie  Evson. 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  said  Kenrick,  in  an  enco.u aging  tone 


350  chaklie's  advocacy. 

"  Wei.  then,  please,  Kenrick,  and  the  whole  of  you,  1 
think  you  have  had  the  truth  out  of  him  ;  and  I  think  he  it 
innocent. 

"  Why,  Charlie  ?"  said  Whalley  ;  "  what  makes  you 
think  so  ?" 

"  Because  I've  asked  him,  and  talked  to  him  privately 
about  it,"  said  Charlie  ;  "  when  you  frighten  him  he  gets 
confused,  and  contradicts  himself,  but  he  can  explain 
whatever  looks  suspicious  if  you  ask  him  kindly  and 
quietly." 

"  Bosh  1"   said  Wilton  ;  "  who  frightened  him  ?" 

"  Silence,  Wilton,"  said  Whalley.  "  Well,  Charlie,  will 
you  question  him  now  for  us  ?" 

"That  I  will,"  said  Charlie,  advancing  and  putting  his 
hand  kindly  round  Elgood's  shoulder,  as  he  seated  himself 
on  the  desk  by  which  Elgood  was  standing.  "  Will  you 
tell  us,  as  I  ask  you,  all  you  told  me  this  morning  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Elgood,  eagerly,  while  his  whole  mannei 
changed  from  nervous  tremor  to  perfect  simplicity  and  quiet 
now  that  he  had  a  friend  to  stand  by  him. 

"  Well,  now,  about  the  money  you've  been  spending 
lately  ?"  questioned  Charlie,  with  a  smile.  "  You  usen't  to 
be  so  flush  of  cash,  you  know,  a  month  ago." 

"  I  can  tell  you,"  answered  Elgood  ;  "  I  had  a  very 
large  present — large  for  me,  I  mean — three  weeks  ago. 
My  father  sent  me  a  pound,  because  it  was  my  birthday, 
and  my  big  brother  and  aunt  sent  me  each  a  pound  too." 

"  I  can  answer  for  that  being  perfectly  true,"  said 
Charlie,  "  for  I  went  with  my  brother  to  the  post-office  thia 
afternoon  and  asked,  and  found  that  Elgood  had  had  three 
money-orders  changed  there.  And  now,  Elgood,  can  you 
trust  me  with  your  purse  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  can,  Charlie,"  said  Elgood,  readily  pro 
iucing  it,  and  almost  forgetting  that  the  others  were  present 


INNOCENCE    CLEARED.  35} 

"All,  well,  now  you  see  I'm  going  to  rifle  it.  Ah  I 
what  have  we  here  ?  why,  here's  a  whole  sovereign,  and 
eight  shillings  ;  that  looks  suspicions,  doesn't  it  ?"  said 
Charlie,  archly. 

"  No,"  said  Elgood,  laughing  ;  "  you  went  with  me 
yourself  when  I  bought  my  desk  for  eighteen  shillings,  and 
the  rest" 

"  All  right,"  said  Charlie.  "  Look,  you  fellows  :  Elgood 
and  I  put  down  this  morning  the  other  things  he's  bought, 
and  they  came  to  fourteen  shillings.  I  know  they're  right, 
for  I  didn't  like  Elgood  to  be  wrongly  suspected,  so  Walter 
went  with  me  to  the  shops  ;  indeed  it  was  chiefly  spent  at 
Coles'" — at  which  remark  they  all  laughed,  for  Coles'  was 
the  favorite  "tuck-shop"  of  the  boys.  "Well,  now, 
£1  :  8  :  0  +  18  +  14  makes  £3,  the  sum  which  Elgood 
received  from  home.     Is  that  plain  ?" 

"  As  plain  as  a  pike-staff,"  said  Bliss  ;  "  and  you're  a 
little  brick,  Evson  ;  and  it's  a  chouse  if  any  one  suspects 
Elgood  any  more." 

Wilton  suggested  something  about  Elgood  being  W bai- 
ley's fag. 

"  Shame,  Raven,"  said  Kenrick  ;  "  why,  what  a  suspi- 
cious fellow  you  must  be  ;  there's  no  ground  whatever  to 
suspect  Elgood  now." 

"  I  only  want  the  fellow  found  out  for  the  honor  of  the 
house,"  said  Wilton,  with  a  sheepish  look  at  this  third 
rebuff. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  about  that  for  the  moment,"  said  Charlie  ; 
"  Whalley,  please,  you  know  the  time,  don't  you,  when  the 
money  was  taken  from  your  desk  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  it  must  have  been  between  four  and  six,  foi 
I  saw  it  safe  at  four,  and  it  was  gone  when  I  came  back 
after  tea." 

•'  Then  all  right,"  said  Charlie,  joyfully,  "  for  at  that 


352  WHO    IS    GUILTY  i 

very  time,  all  of  it,  Elgood  was  in  my  brother's  study  with 
me,  learning  some  lessons.     Now,  then,  is  Elgood  clear  ?" 

"  As  clear  as  noon-day,"  shouted  several  of  them,  patting 
the  poor  child  on  the  head. 

"  And  really,  Charlie,  we're  all  very  much  obliged  to 
you,"  said  Whalley,  "  for  setting  this  matter  straight.  But 
now,  as  it  isn't  Elgood,  who  is  the  thief?  We  must  all  set 
ourselves  to  discover." 

"  And  we  shall  discover,"  said  Bliss  ;  "  he's  probably 
here  now.  Who  is  it  ?"  he  asked,  glancing  round.  "  Well, 
whoever  it  is,  I  don't  envy  him  his  sensations  at  this 
minute." 

The  meeting  broke  up,  and  Kenrick  accompanied  Whal 
ley  to  the  study  to  concert  further  measures. 

"  Have  you  any  suspicion  at  all  about  it,  Whalley  ?'•' 

"  Not  the  least.  Have  you  ?  No.  Well,  then,  what 
shall  we  do  ?" 

"  Why,  the  thief  isn't  likely  to  visit  your  study  again, 
Whalley  ;  very  likely  he'll  come  to  mine.  Suppose  we  put 
a  little  marked  money  in  the  secret  drawer.  It's  rather  a 
joke  to  call  it  the  secret  drawer,  for  there's  no  secret  about 
it :  anyhow,  it's  an  open  secret." 

"  Very  good  ;  and  then  ?" 

"  Why,  you  know  the  money  generally  goes  at  one  par- 
ticular time  on  half-holidays.  I'm  afraid  the  rogue,  who- 
ever he  is,  has  got  a  taste  for  it  by  this  time,  and  will  come 
to  money  like  a  fly  to  a  jam-pot.  Now,  outside  my  room, 
a  few  yards  off,  is  the  shoe-cupboard  ;  what  if  yoa  and  I, 
and  a  few  others,  agree  to  shut  ourselves  up  there  in 
turns,  now  and  then,  on  half-holidays  between  roil-call  and 
tea-time  ?" 

"  I  see,"  said  Whalley  ;  "  well,  it's  horridly  unpleasant, 
"  but  I'll  take  my  turn  first.  Isn't  the  door  usually  locked 
though  ?" 


AJS    AMBUSCADE.  353 

"  Yes,  but  ^o  much  the  better  ;  we  can  easily  get  it  left 
open,  and  the  thief  won't  suspect  an  ambuscade.  He  musi 
be  found  out,  for  the  sake  of  all  the  boys  who  are  innocent, 
and  to  wipe  out  the  blot  against  the  house." 

"  All  right ;  I'll  ensconce  myself  there  to-morrow  I 
say,  Ken,  isn't  young  Evson  a  capital  fellow  ?  how  well  he 
managed  to  clear  Elgood,  didn't  he  ?  I  declare  he  taught 
us  all  a  lesson." 

"  Yes,"  said  Kenrick  ;  "  he's  his  brother  all  over  ;  just 
what  Walter  was  when  he  came." 

"  What,  yon  say  that  ?"  said  Whalley,  smiling  and  arch- 
ing his  eyebrows. 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  said  Kenrick,  with  some  saduess  ;  "  I 
haven't  always  thought  so,  the  more's  the  pity  ;"  and  he 
left  the  room  with  a  sigh. 

After  his  turn  for  incarceration  in  the  shoe-cupboard, 
Bliss  complained  loudly  that  it  wasn't  large  enough  to 
accommodate  him,  and  that  it  cramped  his  long  arms  and 
legs,  to  say  nothing  of  the  unpleasant  vicinity  of  spiders 
and  earwigs  !  But  the  others,  laughing  at  him,  told  him 
that,  if  the  experiment  was  to  be  of  any  use  whatever,  they 
must  persevere  in  it,  and  Bliss  allowed  himself  to  be  made 
a  victim.  For  a  time  nothing  Happened,  but  they  had  not 
to  wait  very  long. 

One  day,  Kenrick  had  been  mounting  guard  for  about 
half  an  hour,  and  was  getting  very  tired,  when  a  light  and 
hasty  step  passed  along  the  passage,  and  into  his  room.  The 
boy  found  the  study  empty,  and  proceeded  noiselessly  to 
open  Kenrick's  desk,  and  examine  the  contents.  At 
Length  he  pulled  open  the  secret  drawer  ;  it  opened  with  a 
little  click,  and  there  lay  before  him  two  half  sovereigns 
and  some  silver.  lie  was  a  wary  fellow,  for  he  scrutinized 
these  all  over  most  carefully  to  see  if  they  were  marked, 
and  finding  no  mark  of  any  kind  on  them — for  it  almost 


354 


DETECTED. 


required  a  microscope  to  see  the  tiny  scratch  between  the 
w.w.  on  the  smooth  edge  of  the  neck — he  took  out  his 
purse,  and  was  proceeding  to  drop  them  into  it,  when  a 
ke.avy  hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder,  and  Kenrick  and 
Wilton — the  detected  thief — stood  face  to  face.  The  purse 
dropped  on  the  floor. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  silent,  staring  at  each  other, 
and  drawing  quick  breath.  Wilton  stood  there  pale  as 
death,  and  looked  up  at  Kenrick  trembling,  and  with  a 
frightened  stare.  It  was  too  awful  to  be  so  suddenly  sur- 
prised ;  to  have  had  an  unknown  eye-witness  standing  by 
him  all  the  while  that,  fancying  himself  unseen,  he  w-as  in 
the  very  act  of  committing  that  secret  deed  of  sin  ;  to  be 
arrested,  detected,  exposed,  as  the  boy  whose  hidden  mis- 
doings had  been,  for  so  long,  a  source  of  discomfort,  anxiety, 
and  shame. 

"  You,  Wilton — you,  you !  you  the  disturber  of  the  house  ; 
you,  who  have  so  long  been  treated  by  me  as  a  friend,  and 
allowed  at  all  times  to  use  my  study  ;  you,  the  foremost  to 
throw  the  suspicion  on  others  !"  He  stopped,  breathless, 
for  his  indignation  wras  rushing  in  too  deep  and  strong  a 
torrent  to  find  vent  in  words. 

"  0  Kenrick,  don't  tell  of  me." 

"  Don't  tell  of  you  !  Good  heavens  !  is  that  all  you  can 
find  to  say  ?  Not  one  word  of  sorrow — not  one  vord  of 
shame  ?     Abandoned,  heartless,  graceless  fellow  I" 

"  I  was  driven  to  it,  Kenrick,  indeed  I  was.  I  owed 
money  to  Dan,  and  to — to  other  places,  and  they  threat- 
ened to  tell  of  me  if  I  didn't  pay.  Then  Harpour  and 
those  fellowrs  quite  cleared  me  out  at  cards  ;  I  believe  they 
lid  it  by  cheating.     Oh,  don't  tell  of  me  !" 

"  I  cannot  screen  a  thief,"  wras  the  freezing  reply  :  and 
the  change  from  flame  to  ice  showed  into  what  commotion 
his  feelings  had  been  thrown 


WILTOX    AT   BAF.  355 

"  Well  then,  if  it  comes  to  that,"  said  Wilton,  turning 
sullen,  "  I'll  tell  of  you.  It'll  all  come  out  ;  remember  it 
was  you  who  first  took  me  to  Dan's,  and  that's  not  the 
only  thing  I  could  tell  of  you.  O  Kenriek,  don't  tell,  or 
it  will  get  us  all  into  trouble." 

"  This  then  is  the  creature  whom  I  have  suffered  '.o  call 
me  friend  !"  said  Kenriek  ;  "  for  whom  I  have  given  up 
some  of  the  best  friends  in  the  school  !  And  this  is  your 
giatitude  !  Why,  you  worm,  Wilton,  what  do  you  take 
me  for  ?  Do  you  think  that  fear  of  your  disclosures  will 
make  me  hush  up  twenty  thefts  ?  You  enlist  the  whole 
strength  of  my  conscience  against  you,  lest  I  should  seem 
to  screen  you  for  my  own  sake.  Faugh  !  your  very  touch 
sickens  me  ! — go  !" 

"  O  Kenriek,  don't  be  so  angry  ;  I  didn't  mean  to  say 
it  ;  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  saying  ;  I  am  driven  into  a 
corner  by  shame  and  misery.  I  know  I  have  been  a  mean 
dog  ;  but  even  if  you  tell  of  me,  don't  crush  me  so  with 
your  anger,  for  indeed,  indeed,  I  have  been  grateful,  anc 
have  loved  you,  Kenriek.  But  oh,  don't  tell,  I  implore,  I 
entreat  you,  Ken.  How  little  I  thought  that  I  should 
have  to  speak  to  you  like  this  !" 

But  Kenriek  could  only  say — "  You  the  thief;  you,  the 
last  fellow  of  all  I  should  have  suspected  ;  you  whom  1 
have  called  friend' — 0  heavens  !  Yes,  I  know  that  I 
have  done  you  harm  by  bad  example,  I  kuow  that  I've 
much  to  answer  for,  but  at  any  rate  I  never  taught  you  tc 
be  a  thief.''' 

"  But  one  thing  comes  of  another,  Ken  ;  it  all  came  of 
my  being  so  much  with  those  brutes,  and  going  to  Dan's  , 
't  all  came  of  that.  I  shouldn't  have  thought  myself  that  I 
could  do  it  or  do  half  the  bad  things  I  have  done,  two  mouths 
ago.  It  all  came  of  that ;  and  you  used  to  go  with  those 
"ellows,  Ken,  and   vou  went  with  me  to  Dan's  ;"  and  tho 


356 


IN    THE    ANGUISH    .)F 


boy  wrung  his  hands,  and  wept,  and  flung  himself  on  his 
knees.     "  I  must  tell  all,  if  you  tell  of  me." 

"  Say  that  again,"  said  Kenrick,  spurning  him  scornfully 
away,  "  say  it  once  again,  and  I  go  straight  to  Dr  Lane. 
Poor  worm,  you  don't  understand  me,  you  don't  seem  to 
have  the  capability  of  a  high  thought  in  you.  I  tell  yon 
that  nothing  you  can  say  of  me  shall  shake  my  purpose.  J 
am  going  now." 

But  before  he  could  get  his  straw  hat,  Wilton  had  clasped 
him  by  the  knees,  and  in  a  voice  of  agony  was  beseeching 
him  to  relent. 

"  It's  all  true,  Kenrick  ;  I  am  base,  I  know  it ;  I  have 
quenched  all  honor  in  me.  I  won't  say  that  again,  but  do, 
for  God's  sake,  forgive  me  this  once,  and  not  tell  of  me. 
0  Kenrick,  have  you  never  had  to  say  forgive  ?  Do,  do 
pity  me,  as  you  hope  to  be  forgiven  ;  don't  ruin  me,  and 
give  me  a  bad  name  ;  I  am  so  young,  so  young,  and  have 
fallen  into  bad  hands  from  the  first." 

He  still  knelt  on  the  floor,  exhausted  with  the  violence 
of  his  passion,  hanging  his  head  upon  his  breast,  sobbing  as 
if  his  heart  would  break.  It  was  sad  to  see  him,  a  mere 
child  still,  who  might  have  been  so  different,  long  a  little 
reprobate,  and  now  a  convicted  thief.  His  face  bathed  in 
tears,  his  voice  choked  with  sobs,  the  memory  of  the  past, 
consciousness  that  much  which  he  said  was  only  too  true, 
touched  Kenrick  with  compassion  ;  the  tears  rolled  down 
his  own  face  fast,  and  he  felt  that,  though  personal  fear 
could  not  influence  him,  pity  would  perhaps  force  him  to 
relent,  and  wring  from  him  in  his  weakness  a  reluctant  pro- 
mise not  to  disclose  Wilton's  discovered  guilt. 

"  What  can  I  say  to  you,  Wilton  ?  you  know  that  I  have 
«iked  you,  but  I  never  thought  that  you  could  act  like  this." 

"  Nor  I,  Kenrick,  a  short  time  ago ;  but  the  devi' 
f-empted  me,  and  I  have  never  learned  to  resist." 


REMORSE    AND    SHAME.  357 

"  From  mj  very  heart  I  do  pity  you  ;  but  I  fear  I  muni 
tell,  I  fear  it's  my  duty,  and  I  have  neglected  so  many  that 
I  dare  neglect  no  more  ;  though,  indeed,  I'd  rather  have 
had  any  duty  but  this." 

Wilton  was  again  clasping  his  knees  and  harrowing  hia 
fcoul  by  his  wild  anguish,  imploring  to  be  saved  from  the 
horror  of  open  shame  ;  and,  accustomed  as  Kenrick  was  to 
grant  anything  to  this  boy,  he  was  reduced  to  great  dis- 
tress. Already  his  whole  manner  had  relented  from  the 
loathing  and  anger  he  first  displayed.  He  could  stand  uo 
more  at  present. 

"  O  Wilton,"  he  said,  "  you  will  make  me  ill  if  you  go  on 
like  this.  I  cannot,  must  not,  will  not  make  you  any  pro- 
mise now  ;  but  I  will  think  what  to  do." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Wilton,  deeply  abashed  ;  "  but  before 
I  go,  promise  me  one  thing,  Ken,  and  that  is,  even  if  you 
tell  of  me,  don't  quite  cast  me  off.  I  shouldn't  like  to 
leave  and  think  that  I  hadn't  left  one  behind  me  to  give 
me  a  kind  thought  sometimes." 

"  0  Ra,  Ra,  to  think  that  it  was  you  all  the  while  who 
were  committing  all  these  thefts  1" 

"  You  will  cast  me  off,  then  ?"  said  Wilton,  in  a  voice 
broken  by  penitence.  "  Oh  !  what  a  bitter,  bitter  thing  it 
is  to  feel  shame  like  this." 

"  I  have  felt  it  too  in  my  time,  Raven.  Poor,  poor  fel 
low  !  who  am  I  that  I  should  cast  you  off?  No,  you 
jnbappy  child,  I  may  tell  of  you,  but  I  will  not  cease  to 
6e  fond  of  you.  Go,  Wilton  ;  I  will  decide  betweeL 
this  and  tea-time  ; — you  may  come  and  hear  about  it 
after  tea." 

He  was  already  outside  the  door  when  Kenrick  called 
out,  "  Wilton,  stop  1" 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Wilton,  returning  alarmed,  foJ 
conscience  had  made  him  a  coward. 


358  THE   THREE    COKDniONS. 

:'  There  !"  Kenrick  only  pointed  to  the  purse  lying  on 
the  floor. 

"  Oh,  don't  ask  me  to  touch  it  again,  the  money  is  id 
it,"  said  Wilton,  hastily  leaving  the  room.  There  was  dc 
acting  here  ;  it  was  plain  that  he  was  penitent — plain  that 
he  would  have  given  worlds  not  to  have  been  guilty  of 
the  sin. 

Very  sadly,  and  with  pain  and  doubt,  Kenrick  thought 
the  matter  over,  and  thus  much  at  least  was  clear  to  him  •' 
first,  that  the  house  must  be  informed,  though  not  neces- 
sarily the  masters  or  the  other  boys  ;  secondly,  that  Wilton 
must  make  full  and  immediate  restitution  to  all  from  whom 
he  had  stolen  ;  thirdly,  there  could  be  no  doubt,  about  it, 
that  Wilton  must  get  himself  removed  at  once.  On  these 
conditions  he  thought  it  possible  that  the  matter  might  be 
hushed  up  ;  but  his  conscience  was  uneasy  on  this  point. 
That  unlucky  threat  or  hint  of  Wilton's  that  he  could  and 
would  tell  some  of  his  wrong-doings,  was  his  great  stum- 
bling-block ;  whenever  extreme  pity  influenced  him  to 
screen  the  poor  boy  from  full  exposure,  he  began  to  ask 
himself  whether  this  was  a  mere  cowardly  alternative  sug- 
gested by  his  own  fears.  But  for  this,  he  would  have 
determined  at  once  on  the  more  lenient  and  merciful  course  ; 
but  he  had  to  face  this  question  of  self-interest  very  ear- 
nestly, nor  could  he  come  to  any  conclusion  about  it  until 
he  had  determined  to  take  a  step  in  all  respects  worthy  of 
the  highest  side  of  bis  character,  by  going,  in  any  case, 
spontaneously  to  Dr.  Lane,  and  laying  before  him  a  frank 
confession  of  past  delinquencies,  leaving  him  to  act  as  he 
thought  fit. 

Having  thus  disentangled  the  question  from  all  its  perso- 
nal bearings,  he  was  able  to  review  it  on  its  merits,  and 
went  to  ask  the  counsel  of  Whalley,  to  whom  he  related,  in 
confidence,   the  whole  scene  exactly  as  it  had  occurred 


LEANING    TO    MKROY.  359 

Whallcy  too,  on  hearing  the  alternative  conditions  which 
Kenrick  had  planned,  wa&  fully  inclined  to  spare  Wilton  as 
much  as  possible;  but,  as  neither  of  them  felt  satisfied  to  do 
this  on  their  own  authority,  they  sought  Power's  advice, 
and,  as  he  too  felt  very  doubtful  on  the  matter,  he  sug- 
gested that  they  should  put  it  to  Dr.  Lane,  without  men- 
tioning any  names,  as  a  hypothetical  case,  and  be  fiually 
guided  by  his  directions. 

Accordingly,  Kenrick  sought  Dr.  Lane's  study,  and  laid 
the  entire  difficulty  before  him.  He  listened  attentively, 
and  said,  "  If  the  boy  is  so  young,  and  has  been,  as  you 
say,  misled,  and  accepts  the  very  sensible  conditions  which 
you  have  proposed,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  course 
you  have  suggested  will  be  the  wisest  and  the  kindest  one. 
You  have  my  full  authority,  Kenrick,  to  arrange  it  so,  and 
I  am  happy  to  tell  you  that  you  have  behaved  throughout 
this  matter  in  an  honorable  and  straightforward  way." 

"  I  fear,  sir,  I  very  little  deserve  your  approval,"  said 
Kenrick,  with  downcast  eyes.  "  In  coming  to  ask  your 
advice  in  this  case,  I  wanted  also  to  say  that  I  have  gone 
so  far  wrong  that  I  think  you  ought  to  be  told  how  badly 
I  have  behaved.  It  may  be  that  after  what  I  say,  you 
may  not  think  right  to  allow  me  to  stay  here,  sir  ;  but  at 
any  rate  I  shall  have  disburdened  my  own  conscience  by 
telling  you,  and  shall  perhaps  feel  less  wretched." 

"  My  dear  Kenrick,"  said  Dr.  Lane,  "  it  was  a  right  and 
a  brave  thing  of  you  to  come  here  for  this  purpose.  Con- 
fession is  often  the  first,  as  it  is  one  of  the  most  trying  parts 
of  repentance  ;  and  I  hail  this  as  a  new  proof  of  your 
etrong  and  steady  desire  to  amend.  But  tell  me  nothing, 
c\y  dear  boy.  It  may  be  that  I  know  more  than  you  sup- 
pose ;  at  any  rate,  I  accept  the  will  for  the  deed,  and  wish 
to  hear  no  more,  unless,  indeed,  you  desire  to  consult  me  as 
a  clergyman,  and  as  your  spiritual  adviser,  rather  than  as 


360  A    STERN    RESOLVE. 

your  master.  I  do  not  seek  this  confidence  ;  only  if  there 
is  anything  on  your  conscience  of  which  my  advice  may 
help  to  relieve  you,  I  do  not  forbid  you  to  proceed,  and  I 
will  give  you  what  help  I  can." 

"  I  think  it  would  relieve  me,  sir,"  said  Kenrick  ;  "  I  have 
no  father  ;  I  have,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  no  friend  in  the 
echool  to  whom  I  could  speak." 

"  Then  sit  down,  Kenrick,  and  be  assured  beforehand 
of  my  real  sympathy." 

He  sate  down,  and  twitching  nervously  at  the  ribbon  of 
his  straw  hat,  told  Dr.  Lane  much  of  the  history  of  the  last 
two  years,  confessing,  above  all,  how  badly  he  had  behaved 
as  head  of  the  house,  and  how  much  harm  he  feared  his 
example  had  done. 

Dr.  Lane  did  not  attempt  to  extenuate  the  heinousness 
of  his  offence,  but  he  pointed  to  him  what  were  the  fruits 
and  the  means  of  repentance.  He  exhorted  him  to  let  the 
sense  of  his  past  errors  stimulate  him  to  double  future  ex- 
ertions. He  told  him  of  many  ways  in  which,  by  kindness, 
by  moral  courage,  by  Christian  principle,  he  might  be  a  help 
and  a  blessing  to  other  boys.  He  earnestly  warned  him  to 
look  to  God  for  strength,  and  to  watch  and  pray  lest  he 
6hould  enter  into  temptation.  And  then  promising  him  a 
full  and  free  oblivion  of  the  past,  he  knelt  down  with  him 
and  offered  up  from  an  overflowing  heart  a  few  words  of 
earnest  prayer. 

"  There  is  nothing  like  prayer  to  relieve  the  heart,  Ken- 
rick," said  Dr.  Lane  ;  "  and  now,  good-night,  and  God 
bless  you." 

With  a  far  lighter  heart,  with  far  brighter  hopes,  Ken 
tick  left  him,  feeling  as  if  a  great  burden  had  been  rolled 
away,  and  inwardly  blessing  the  Doctor  for  his  comforting 
feindness.  He  found  Wilton  anxiously  awaiting  his  arrival 
»n  his  study  ;  and  thinking  that  their  cases  in  some  respect? 


WILTON    AND    KEN  KICK.  361 

resembled  each  other,  he  strove  not  to  be  like  the  unfor- 
giving debtor  of  the  parable,  and  spoke  to  Wilton  with 
great  gentleness. 

"  Come  here,  my  poor  child  ;  first  of  all,  let  me  tell  yon 
that  you  shall  not  be  reported."  Wilton  repaid  him  by  a 
look  of  grateful  joy. 

"  But  you  must  restore  all  the  stolen  money,  Wilton  ; 
the  house  must  be  told  privately  ;  and  you  must  leave  at 
once." 

"  Well,  Kenrick,  I  ask  only  one  favor,"  said  Wilton, 
after  a  short  pause. 

"  What  is  that  ?" 

"  That  the  house  may  not  be  told  who  stole  the  money 
until  it  is  nearly  time  for  me  to  go." 

"  No  ;  it  shall  be  kept  close  till  then,  otherwise  the  next 
fortnight  would  be  too  hard  for  you  to  bear." 

"  But  must  I  leave  ?"  asked  Wilton,  appealingly. 

"  It  must  be  so,  Wilton  ;  /shall  be  sorry  for  you,  but  it 
must  be  settled  so.     Can  you  manage  it  ?" 

"  0  yes."  said  Wilton,  crying  quietly  ;  "  I'll  write  home 
and  tell  my  poor  mother  all  about  it,  and  then  of  course 
she'll  send  me  some  money  and  take  me  away  at  once,  to 
save  me  from  being  expelled.  My  poor  mother,  how 
wretched  it  will  make  her  !" 

"  Sin  makes  us  all  wretched,  Raven  boy.  I'm  sure  it 
makes  me  wrretched  enough.  And  that  you  mayn't  think 
that  fear  has  had  anything  to  do  with  our  letting  you  off, 
I  must  tell  you,  Wilton,  that  I  have  been  to  Dr.  Lane  him- 
self aud  told  him  all  the  many  sins  I've  been  guilty  of." 

"  Have  you  ?  Oh  !  I  am  so  sorry  :  it  was  all  through 
me." 

"  Yes  :  but  I'm  not  sorry  ;  I'm  all  the  happier  for  it, 
Raven.  There's  nothing  so  miserable  as  undiscovered  sin  ; 
— is  there  ?" 

16 


362  ACHAN  THE  SON  OF  CARMT. 

"  Oli,  indeed  there  isn't.  I  am  sure  I  feel  happier  new 
in  spite  )f  all.  No  one  knows.  Ken,  how  I've  suffered  thi* 
last  fortnight.  I've  been  in  a  perpetual  fright ;  I've  had 
fearful  dreams  ;  I've  felt  ready  to  sink  for  shame  ;  and 
I've  always  been  fancying  that  fellows  suspected  me.  Dc 
you  know,  I  am  almost  glad  you  caught  me,  Ken.  I'm 
very  glad  it  was  you  and  no  oue  else,  though  it  was  a  hor 
rid,  horrid  moment  when  you  laid  your  hand  on  my  shoul 
d  i\  Yet  even  this  isn't  so  bad  as  to  have  gone  on  nursing 
the  guilt  secretly,  and  not  to  have  been  detected." 

Kenrick  was  musing  ;  the  boy  who  could  talk  like  that 
was  clearly  one  who  might  have  been  very  unlike  what 
Wilton  then  was. 

"  Wilton,"  he  sairl,  "  come  here,  and  draw  your  chair  by 
mine  while  I  ivad  you  a  little  story." 

"  0  Ken,  I'm  so  grateful  that  you  don't  hate  and  de- 
spise me  though  I  am   a" ,  he  murmured  the  word 

"  thief"  with  a  shudder,  and  under  his  breath,  as  he  drew 
up  his  chair,  and  Kenrick  read  to  him  in  a  low  voice  the 
story  of  Achan,  till  he  came  to  the  verses — 

"  And  Achan,  the  son  of  Carmi,  the  son  of  Zabdi,  the 
Bon  of  Zerah,  of  the  tribe  of  Judah,  was  taken. 

"  And  Joshua  said,  My  son,  give,  I  pray  thee,  glory  to 
the  Lord  God  of  Israel,  and  make  confession  unto  him  ;  and 
tell  me  now  what  thou  hast  done,  hide  it  not  from  me. 

"  And  Achan  answered  Joshua  and  said,  Indeed  I  have 
5.  nned  against  the  Lord  God  of  Israel,  and  thus  and  thua 
have  I  done." 

And  there  Kenrick  stopped,  while  Wilton  said,  "  My 
son  I  You  see  Joshua  still  called  him  '  my  sou '  in  spite  of 
all  his  sin  and  mis:hief." 

"  Yes,  Raven  boy  ;  but  that  wasn't  why  I  read  you  th« 
story  which  has  often  struck  me.  What  I  wanted  you  tc 
eee  was  this  :    The  man  was  detected — the  thing  had  been 


THE   TWO    DEBTOBS  863 

roming,  creeping  horribly  near  to  him  ;-  -first  his  tribe 
marked  by  the  fatal  lot,  then  his  family,  then  his  house, 
then  himself  ;  and  while  he's  standing  there,  guilty  and 
detected,  in  the  very  midst  of  that  crowd  who  had  been 
defeated  because  of  his  baseness,  and  when  all  their  eyes 
were  scowling  on  him,  and  when  he  knows  that  he,  and  his 
sons,  and  his  daughters,  are  going  to  be  burned  and  stoned 
i — at  this  very  moment  Joshua  says  to  him,  '  My  son,  give, 
I  -pray  thee,  glory  to  the  God  of  Israel..'1  You  see  he's  to 
thank  God  for  detecting  him — thank  God  even  at  that 
frightful  moment,  and  with  that  frightful  death  before  him 
as  a  consequence.  One  would  have  thought  that  it  wasn't 
a  matter  for  much  gratitude  or  jubilation  :  but  you  see  it 
was,  and  so  both  Joshua  and  Achan  seem  to  have  ad- 
mitted." 

"  Ah,  Kenrick  !"  said  Wilton,  sadly,   "  if  you'd  always 
talked  to  me  like  that,  I  shouldn't  be  like  Achan  now." 

Kenrick  said  nothing,  but  as  he  had  received  infinite 
comfort  from  Dr.  Lane's  treatment  of  himself,  he  took  Wil- 
ton by  the  hand,  and,  without  saying  a  word,  knelt  down 
Wilton  knelt  down  beside  him,  and  he  prayed  for  forgive- 
ness for  them  both.  A  few  broken,  confused,  uncertain 
words  only,  but  they  were  earnest,  and  they  came  fresh  and 
burning  from  the  heart.  They  were  words  of  true  prayer, 
and  the  poor,  erring,  hardened  little  boy  rose  from  hia 
knees  too  overcome  to  speak. 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY-SEVENTH. 

THE    RECONCILIATION    AND    THE    LOSS. 

fpiIE  termination  of  Wilton's  sojourn  at  St.  Winifred's 
soon  arrived.  As  yet  none  but  the  two  head  boys  in 
-*-  the  house  knew  of  his  detection.  The  thefts  indeed 
had  ceased  ;  but  the  name  of  the  offender  was  still  a  mat- 
ter of  constant  surmise,  and  it  was  no  easy  task  for  Wilton 
— conscious  how  soon  they  would  be  informed — to  listen  to 
the  strong  terms  of  disgust  which  were  applied  to  the  yet 
unknown  delinquent.  The  barriers  of  his  conceit,  his  cool- 
ness, his  audacity,  were  all  broken  down  ;  he  was  a  changed 
boy  ;  his  manner  was  grave  and  silent,  and  he  almost  hid 
himself  during  those  days  in  Kenrick's  study,  where  Ken- 
rick,  with  true  kindness,  still  permitted  him  to  sit. 

Meanwhile  it  became  generally  known  that  he  was  going 
to  leave  almost  immediately  ;  and  as  boys  often  left  in  this 
way  at  the  division  of  the  quarter,  his  departure,  though 
rather  sudden,  created  no  astonishment,  nor  had  any  one  as 
yet  the  most  distant  conjecture  as  to  the  reasons  which  led 
to  it.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say,  that  Wilton  was  one  of 
the  last  boys  whom  the  rest  would  have  suspected  ;  they 
knew  indeed  that  he  never  professed  to  be  guided  by  any 
strong  moral  principles  ;  but  they  thought  him  an  unlikely 
fellow  to  be  guilty  of  acts  which  sinned  so  completely 
against  the  school-boy's  artificial  code,  and  which  branded 
him  who  committed  them  with  the  charge  of  acknowledged 
meanness. 

On  the  very  evening  of  his  departure,  the  house  was 
Bgain  summoned  by  a  notice  from  Whalley  and  Kenricb  to 


WHO  IS  IT  't  305 

aicet  in  the  class-rooin  after  preparation.  They  came,  not 
knowing  for  what  they  were  summoned.  Whalley  opened 
the  proceedings  by  requesting  that  any  boy  who  had  of  late 
had  money  stolen  from  him  would  stand  up.  Four  or  fir« 
of  them  rose,  and  on  stating  the  sums,  mostly  small,  which 
they  had  lost,  immediately  received  the  amount  from  Whal- 
ley, much  to  their  surprise,  and  no  less  to  their  content. 

The  duty  which  still  remained  was  far  less  pleasing  and 
more  delicate,  and  it  was  by  Wilton's  express  and  earnest 
request  that  it  was  undertaken  by  Kenrick  and  not  by 
Whalley.  It  was  a  painful  moment  for  both  of  them  when 
Kenrick  rose,  and  very  briefly,  with  all  the  forbearance  and 
gentleness  he  could  command,  informed  the  house  that 
there  was  every  reason  to  hope  that,  from  that  time  for- 
ward, these  thefts,  which  had  caused  them  all  so  much  di> 
tress,  would  cease.  The  offender  had  been  discoverc-d,  and 
he  begged  them  all,  having  confidence  that  they  would  grant 
the  request,  not  to  deal  harshly  with  him,  or  think  harshly 
of  him.  The  guilty  boy  had  done  all  that  could  be  done  by 
making  full  and  immediate  restitution,  so  that  none  of  them 
now  need  remember  any  injury  received  at  his  hands,  except 
Elgood,  on  whom  suspicion  had  been  unjustly  thrown,  and 
whose  forgiveness  the  boy  earnestly  begged. 

At  this  part  of  his  remarks  there  arose  in  the  deep  si- 
lence a  general  murmur  of  "  Who  is  it  ?  who  is  it  ?" 

Wiltou;  trembling  all  over  with  agitation  and  excite- 
ment, was  seated  beside  Kenrick,  and  had  almost  cowered 
behind  him  for  very  shame  ;  but  now  Kenrick  stood  aside, 
and  laying  his  hand  on  Wilton's  head,  continued,  "  He  ia 
one  of  ourselves,  and  he  is  sitting  here,"  while  Wilton 
sovered  his  face  with  both  hands,  and  did  not  stir. 

An  expression  of  surprise  and  emotion  thrilled  over  aD 
the  boys  present ;  not  a  word  was  spoken  ;  and  inimedi- 
ately  after  Kenrick  said  to  them,  "  He  is  punished  enough; 


366  AN    HONORABLE    SECRET. 

you  can  undoi  stand  that  this  is  a  terrible  thing  for  hiiu 
He  lias  made  reparation  as  far  as  he  can,  and  besides  this, 
he  is  on  this  account  going  to  leave  us  to-day.  I  may  tell 
you  all,  too,  that  he  is  very,  very  sorry  for  what  he  has 
aone,  and  has  learned  a  lesson  that  he  will  carry  with  him 
to  his  grave.  May  I  assure  him  that  we  all  forgive  him 
freely  ?  May  I  tell  him  that  we  are  grieved  to  part  with 
him,  and  most  of  all  grieved  for  this  which  has  caused  it  ? 
May  I  tell  him  that,  in  spite  of  all,  he  carries  with  him  our 
warmest  wishes  and  best  hopes,  and  that  he  leaves  no  ene- 
my behind  him  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes  !"  was  murmured  on  all  sides,  and  while  the 
Bound  of  Wilton's  crying  sounded  through  the  room,  many 
of  the  others  were  also  in  tears.  For  this  boy  was  popu- 
lar ;  bad  as  he  had  been — and  the  name  of  his  sins  was 
legion — there  was  something  about  him  which  had  endeared 
him  to  most  of  them.  Barring  this  last  fault,  they  were 
generally  proud  of  him  ;  there  had  been  a  certain  gene- 
rosity about  him,  a  gay  thoughtlessness,  a  boyish  daring, 
which  won  their  admiration.  He  was  a  promising  cricketer, 
active,  merry,  full  of  spirits  :  before  he  had  been  so  spoiled 
by  the  notice  of  bigger  fellows,  there  was  no  one  who  did 
not  like  him  and  expect  that  he  would  turn  out  well. 

"  Then  my  unpleasant  task  is  over,"  said  Kenrick,  "  and 
I  have  no  more  to  say.  Oh,  yes  ;  I  had  forgotten,  there 
was  one  very  important  thing  I  had  to  say,  as  Whallev 
reminds  me.  It  is  this  :  You  kuow  that  the  Noelites  have 
k<>pt  other  secrets  before  now,  not  always  good  secrets,  I 
am  sorry  to  say.  But  will  you  all  now  keep  this  honorable 
jecret  ?  Will  you  not  mention  (for  there  is  no  occasion 
for  it),  to  any  others  in  the  school,  who  it  was  that  took 
the  money  ?  The  matter  will  very  soon  be  forgotten  ;  dc 
not  let  Wilton's  sin  be  bruited  through  the  whole  school,  sc 
i  to  give  him  a  bad  name  for  life." 


FAREWELLS.  367 

"  Indeed  we  won't,  not  one  of  ns  wiL  tell,"  said  die  boys, 
and  they  kept  the  promise  admirably  afterwards. 

"  Then  we  may  all  separate.  You  may  bid  Wilton 
good-bye  now  if  you  wish  to  do  so,  for  he  starts  to-night, 
almost  at  once  ;  the  carriage  is  wait'ms?  for  him  now,  and 
you  will  have  no  opportunity  o*f  seeing  him  again." 

They  flocked  round  him  and  said  "  good-bye,"  without 
one  word  of  reproach,  or  one  word  calculated  to  wound  his 
feelings  ;  many  of  them  added  some  sincere  expressions  of 
their  good  wishes  for  the  future.  As  for  Wilton  himself, 
he  was  far  too  much  moved  to  say  much  to  them,  but  he 
pressed  their  hands  in  silence,  only  speaking  to  beg  Elgood 
to  pardon  his  unkindness,  which  the  little  fellow  begged 
him  not  to  think  of  at  all. 

Charlie  Evson  lingered  among  the  last,  and  spoke  to  him 
with  frank  and  genial  warmth. 

"  How  you  must  hate  me,  Charlie,  for  annoying  you 
so,  and  trying  to  lead  you  wrong  1"  said  Wilton,  peni- 
tently. 

"  Indeed  I  don't,  Wilton,"  said  Charlie  ;  "  I  wish  you 
weren't  going  to  leave.  I'm  sure  we  should  all  get  on 
better  now." 

"  Don't  think  me  as  bad  as  I  have  seemed,  Charlie.  I 
was  ashamed  at  heart  all  the  time  I  was  trying  to  persuade 
you  to  crib  and  tell  lies,  and  do  like  other  fellows.  I  felt 
all  the  while  that  you  were  better  than  me." 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Wilton.  Perhaps  we  shall  meet 
igain  some  day,  and  be  good  friends  ;  and  I  wish  you 
happiness  with  all  my  heart." 

Charlie  was  the  last  of  them,  and  Kenrick  and  Wilton 
were  left  alone.  For  Wilton's  sake,  Kenrick  tried  to  show 
all  the  cheerfulness  he  could,  as  he  went  with  him  through 
the  now  silent  and  deserted  court  to  the  gate  where  the 
carriage  was  waiting. 


368  GOOD-BYE   TO    WILTON. 

"  Have  you  got  all  jour  luggage,  and  everything  all 
right,  Raven  ?" 

"  Yes,  everything,"  he  said,  taking  one  last  long  look  at 
the  familiar  scene.  It  was  dim  moonlight ;  the  lighcs 
twinkled  in  the  studies  where  the  upper  boys  were  working, 
and  in  the  dormitories  where  the  rest  were  now  going  to 
bed.  The  tall  trees  round  the  building  stood  quite  black 
against  the  faintly-lighted  sky,  waving  their  thinned  rem- 
nant of  yellow  leaves  in  the  November  air.  In  the  stillness 
you  heard  every  slight  sound  ;  and  the  murmur  of  boys' 
voices  came  mingled  with  the  plashing  of  the  mountain 
stream,  and  the  moaning  of  the  low  waves  as  they  broke 
upon  the  shore.  A  merry  laugh  rang  from  one  of  the  dor- 
mitories, jarring  painfully  on  Wilton's  feelings,  as  he  stood 
gazing  round  in  silence. 

He  got  into  the  carriage,  sighing  heavily  and  grasping 
Kenrick's  hand. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Ken  ;  it  must  be  said  at  last.  May 
I  write  to  you  ?" 

"  I  wish  you  would.     I  shall  be  so  glad  to  hear  of  you." 

"  And  you  will  answer  me,  Ken  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  will,  my  poor  child.  Good-bye.  God 
bless  yon."  They  still  lingered  for  a  moment,  and  Ken- 
rick  saw  in  the  moonlight  that  Wilton's  face  was  bathed  in 
tears. 

"  All  right,  sir  ?"  said  the  driver. 

"  Yes,"  said  Wilton  :  "  but  it's  all  wrong,  Ken,  I  think. 
Good-bye."  He  waved  his  hand,  the  carriage  drove  off 
into  the  darkening  night  with  a  little  boy  alone,  and  Ken- 
rick,  with  a  sinking  heart,  strolled  back  to  his  study.  Po 
not  pry  into  his  feelings,  for  they  were  very  terrible  ones, 
as  he  sat  down  to  his  books  with  the  strong  conviction  that 
there  is  nothing  so  good  as  the  steady  fulfilment  of  duty  foi 
the  driving  away  of  heavy  thoughts. 


WORKING    FOK    THE    SCHOLARSHIP.  369 

All  his  time  was  taken  up  with  working  for  the  scholar- 
ship. It  was  a  scholarship  of  ninety  pounds  a  year  for  four 
years,  founded  by  a  princely  benefactor  of  the  school,  but 
only  fulling  vacant  biennially.  There  were  other  scholar- 
ships besides  this,  but  this  was  by  far  the  most  valuable  one 
at  St.  Winifred's  ;  the  tenure  of  it  was  circumscribed  by  no 
conditions,  and  it  was  therefore  proportionally  desirable 
that  Kenrick,  who  was  poor,  should  obtain  it.  He  had, 
indeed,  hardly  a  chance,  as  he  well  knew  ;  for  even  if  he 
Bucceeded  in  beating  Walter,  he  could  not  expect  to  beat 
Power.  But  Power,  though  a  most  graceful  and  finished 
scholar,  was  not  strong  in  mathematics,  and  as  they  counted 
something  in  the  examination,  Kenrick's  chief  chance  lay 
in  this,  for  as  a  scholar  he  was  by  no  means  to  be  despised  ; 
and  with  a  just  reliance  on  his  own  abilities,  he  hoped,  if 
fortunate,  to  make  up  for  being  defeated  in  classics,  by  be- 
ing considerably  ahead  in  the  other  branches  of  the  exami- 
nation. How  he  longed  now  to  have  at  his  command  the 
time  he  had  so  largely  wasted  !  had  he  but  used  that 
aright  he  might  have  easily  disputed  the  palm  in  any  com- 
petition with  Power  himself.  Few  boys  had  been  gifted 
with  stronger  intellects  or  clearer  heads  than  he.  But 
though  fresh  time  may  be  carefully  and  wisely  used,  the  past 
time  that  has  once  been  wasted  can  never  be  recovered  or 
redeemed. 

And  as  he  worked  hard  day  by  day,  the  time  quickly  flew 
by,  the  scholarship  examination  took  place,  and  Christina? 
holidays  came  on.  The  result  of  the  competition  could  not 
be  known  until  the  boys  returned  to  school. 

Mrs.  Kenrick  thought  that  this  Christmas  was  the  hap- 
piest she  had  known.  They  spent  it,  of  course,  very  qui- 
etly. There  were  for  them  none  of  those  happy  family 
gatherings  and  innocent  gaieties  that  made  the  time  so 
bright  for  others,  yet  still  there  was  something  peaceful  and 

i6* 


370  KENKIOK    AT    HOME. 

something  brighter  than  usual  about  them.  Harry's  man 
ner,  she  thought,  was  more  affectionate,  more  tenderly  re« 
spectful,  than  it  often  was.  There  seemed  to  be  something 
softer  and  more  loveable  about  his  ways.  He  bore  himself 
with  less  haughty  indifference  towards  the  Fuzbeians  ;  he 
entered  with  more  zest  into  such  simple  amusements  as  he 
could  invent  or  procure  ;  he  condescended  to  play  quite 
simply  with  the  curate's  little  boys,  and  seemed  to  be  more 
humble  and  more  contented.  She  counted  the  clays  he  spent 
with  her  as  a  miser  counts  his  gold  ;  and  he,  when  he  left 
her,  seemed  more  sorry  to  leave,  and  tried  to  cheer  her 
spirits,  and  did  not  make  so  light,  as  his  wont  had  been, 
of  the  grief  which  the  separation  caused. 

The  first  event  of  importance  on  the  return  of  the  boys 
to  school  was  the  announcement  of  the  scholarship.  The 
list  was  read  from  the  last  name  upwards  ;  Henderson 
stood  sixth,  Kenrick  third,  Evson  second,  Power  first. 
"  But,"  said  Dr.  Lane,  "  Power  has  communicated  to  me 
privately  that  he  does  not  wish  to  receive  the  emoluments 
of  the  scholarship,  he  will  therefore  be  honorary  scholar, 
while  the  scholarship  itself  will  be  held  by  Evson." 

Disappointed  at  the  result,  as  he  undoubtedly  was,  yet, 
Kenrick  would  have  been  glad  at  that  moment  to  be  able 
to  congratulate  Walter.  He  took  it  very  quietly  and 
well.  Sorrow  and  failure  had  come  to  him  so  often  lately, 
that  he  hardly  looked  for  anything  else  ;  so,  when  he  had 
heard  the  result  announced,  he  tried  to  repress  every  melan- 
choly thought,  and  walking  back  to  his  study,  resumed  hia 
day's  work  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 

And  as  he  sat  there,  making  believe  to  work,  but  with 
thoughts  which,  in  spite  of  himself,  sadly  wandered,  there 
pras  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  to  his  great  joy,  no  less  thau 
to  his  intense  surprise,  Walter  Evson  entered. 

"  O  Evson,"  he  said,  blushing  with  awkwardness,  as  he 


RECONCILED   AT   LAST.  371 

remembered  how  long  a  time  had  passed  since  they  had  ex- 
changed a  word  ;  "  I'm  glad  you've  come.  Sit  down.  Let 
me  congratulate  you." 

"  Thanks,  Kenrick,"  said  Walter,  holding  out  his  hand  ; 
"  I  thought  we  had  gone  on  in  this  way  long  enough.  I 
have  never  had  any  ill  feeling  for  you.  and  I  feci  sure  now 
from  your  manner  that  you  have  none  towards  me." 

"  None,  Walter,  none  ;  I  had  at  one  time,  but  it  hag 
long  ceased  :  my  error  has  long  been  explained  to  me.  I 
have  done  you  wrong,  Walter,  for  two  years  and  more  ;  it 
has  been  one  of  my  many  faults,  and  the  chief  cause  of  them 
all.     Can  you  forgive  me  ?" 

"  Heartily,  Ken,  if  I  have  anything  to  forgive.  Wo 
have  both  been  punished  enough,  I  think,  in  losing  the 
happiness  which  we  should  have  been  enjoying  if  wc  had 
continued  friends." 

"  Ah,  Walter,  it  pains  me  to  think  of  that  irrevokable 
past." 

"  But,  Ken,  I  have  come  now  for  a  definite  purpose," 
said  Walter.     "  You'll  promise  me  not  to  take  offence  V* 

"  Never  again,  Walter,  with  you." 

"  Well,  then,  tell  me  honestly,  was  it  of  any  conse- 
quence to  you  to  gain  this  scholarship,  in  which,  so  un- 
expectedly to  myself,  some  accident  has  placed  me  above 
you  ?" 

Kenrick  reddened  slightly,  and  made  no  answer,  while 
Walter  quickly  continued — "  You  know,  Ken,  that  I  am 
going  to  stay  here  another  year  ;  are  you  ?" 

'  I  am  afraid  not ;  my  guardian  does  not  think  that 
we  can  afford  it." 

"  Well,  then,  Ken,  I  think  I  may  say  without  much 
presumption,  that,  as  I  stay  here  for  certain,  I  may  safeh 
reckon  on  getting  a  scholarship  next  year.  At  any  rate, 
tiven  if  I  don't,  my  father  is  quite  rich  enough  to  bear 


872  COALS   OF   FERE. 

my  university  expenses  unaided  without  any  inconveni- 
ence. It  would  be  mere  selfishness  in  me,  therefore,  ta 
retain  this  scholarship,  and  I  mean  to  resign  it  at  once  ; 
to  that  let  me  now  congratulate  you  heartily  on  being 
Marsden  scholar." 

"  Nay,  Walter,  I  can't  have  you  make  this  sacrifice  for 
my  sake." 

"You  can't  help  it,  Ken  ;  for  this  is  a  free  country," 
Baid  Walter,  smiling,  "  and  I  may  waive  a  scholarship  if  I 
like.  But  it's  no  siicrifice  whatever,  my  dear  fellow  ;  don't 
say  anything  more  about  it.  It  gives  me  ten  times  the 
pleasure  that  you  should  hold  it  rather  than  I.  So  again  I 
congratulate  you  ;  and  now,  as  you  must  have  had  enough 
of  me,  I'll  say  good  morning." 

He  rose  with  a  smile  to  leave  the  room,  but  Kenrick, 
seizing  him  by  the  hand,  exclaimed — 

"  O  Walter,  you  heap  coals  of  fire  on  my  head.  Am  I 
never  to  receive  anything  from  you  but  benefits  which  I  can 
never  return  V 

"  Pooh,  Ken,  there  are  no  benefits  between  friends ;  only 
let  us  not  be  silent  and  distant  friends  any  longer.  Power 
is  coming  into  my  study  to  tea  to-night ;  won't  you  join  us 
as  in  old  days  ?" 

"  I  will,  Walter  ;  but  can  the  ghost  of  old  days  be 
called  to  life  ?" 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  the  young  present,  which  is  no 
ghost,  shall  replace  the  old  past,  Ken.  At  six  o'clock, 
mind.     Good-bye." 

"  Don't  go  yet ;  do  stay  a  little.  It  is  a  greater  pleasure 
fchan  I  can  tell  you  to  see  you  here  again,  Walter  I  want 
to  have  a  talk  with  you." 

"  To  make  up  for  two  years'  arrears,  eh,  Ken  ?  Why, 
what  a  pretty  little  study  you've  got  1  Isn't  it  odd  that 
I  should  never  have  been  in  it  before?     It  seems  quite 


OLD    FRIENDS.  373 

natural  to  me  to  be  here  somehow.  You  must  come  and 
Bee  mine  this  evening  ;  I  flatter  myself  it  equals  even 
Power's,  and  beats  Flip's  in  beauty,  and  looks  out  on  the 
sea:  such  a  jolly  view.  But  you  musn't  see  it  till  this 
evening  I  shall  make  Charlie  put  it  to  rights  in  honor 
of  youi  visit.  Charlie  beets  any  fag  for  neatness  ;  why  did 
you  turn  him  off,  eh  ?  I've  made  him  my  fag  now,  to  keep 
his  hand  in." 

"  Let  him  come  back  to  me  now,  Walter  ;  I'm  sadder 
and  wiser  since  those  days." 

"  That  I  will,  gladly.  I  know,  too,  that  he'll  be  de- 
lighted to  come.  Ah,  Wilton's  photograph,  I  see,"  said 
Walter,  still  looking  about  him  ;  "  1  thought  him  greatly 
improved  before  he  left." 

Kenrick  was  pleased  to  see  that  Walter  had  no  suspicion 
why  he  left,  so  that  the  secret  had  been  kept.  They 
talked  on  very  pleasantly,  for  they  had  much  to  say  to 
each  other,  and  Walter  had,  by  his  simple,  easy  manner, 
completely  broken  the  ice,  and  made  Kenrick  feel  at  home 
with  him  again.  Kenrick  was  quite  loth  to  let  him  go 
and  kept  detaining  him  so  eagerly  that  more  than  half  an 
hour,  \*hich  seemed  like  ten  minutes,  had  slipped  away 
before  he  left.  Kenrick  looked  forward  eagerly  to  meet 
him  again  in  the  evening,  with  Power,  and  Henderson,  and 
Eden  ;  their  meeting  would  fitly  inaugurate  his  return  to 
the  better  feelings  of  past  days  ; — but  it  was  not  destined 
that  the  meeting  should  take  place  ;  nor  was  it  till  many 
evenings  afterwards  that  Kenrick  sat  once  more  in  the 
pleasant  society  of  his  old  friends. 

wiien  Walter  had  at  last  made  good  his  escape,  play- 
fully refusing  to  be  imprisoned  any  longer,  Kenrick  roso 
and  paced  the  room.  He  could  hardly  believe  his  own 
happiness  ;  it  was  the  mo^t  delightful  moment  he  had  expe- 
uenced  for  many  a  long  day  ;  the  scholarship,  so  long  tV 


374  A   LETTER. 

object  of  his  hope  and  ambition,  was  now  attained  ;  impofc 
sible  as  it  had  seemed,  it  was  actually  his,  and,  at  the  same 
moment,  the  truest  friend  of  his  boyhood — the  friend  for 
whose  returning  respect  and  affection  he  so  long  had  yearned 
— was  at  last  restored  to  him. 

With  an  overflowing  heart  he  sat  down  to  write  to  h'm 
ibother,  and  communicate  the  good  news  that  he  was 
reconciled  to  Walter,  and  that  Power  and  Walter  had 
resigned  the  scholarship  in  his  favor.  He  had  never 
felt  in  happier  spirits  than  just  then  ; — and  then,  even  at 
the  same  moment,  the  cup  of  sincere  and  innocent  joy, 
so  long  untasted,  was,  with  one  blow,  dashed  away  from 
his  lip. 

For  at  that  momeut  the  post  came  in,  and  one  of  hia 
fags,  humming  a  lively  tune,  came  running  with  a  letter  to 
his  door. 

"  A  letter  for  you,  Kenrick,"  the  boy  said,  throwing  it 
carelessly  on  the  table,  and  taking  up  his  merry  song  as  he 
left  the  room.  But  Kenrick's  eyes  were  riveted  on  the 
letter  :  it  was  edged  with  the  deepest  black,  and  bore  the 
Fuzby  post-mark.  For  a  time  he  sat  stupidly  staring  at 
it :  he  dared  not  open  it. 

At  length  he  made  an  effort,  and  tore  it  open.  It  was 
a  rude,  blurred  scrawl  from  their  old  servant,  telling  him 
that  his  mother  had  died  the  day  before.  A  brief  note 
enclosed  in  this,  from  the  curate  of  the  place,  said,  "  It  is 
quite  true,  my  poor  boy.  Your  mother  died  very  sud- 
denly of  spasms  in  the  heart.  God's  ways  are  not  as  our 
ways  I  have  written  to  tell  your  guardiau,  and  he  will  no 
doubt  meet  you  here." 

Kenrick  remained  stupefied,  unable  to  think,  almost  un- 
able to  comprehend.  He  was  roused  to  his  senses  by  the 
entrance  of  his  fag  to  remove  his  breakfast  things,  which 
still  lay  on  the  table  ;  and  with  a  vague  longing  for  som« 


UNSPEAKABLE.  37t 

iomfort  and  sympathy,  he  scut  the  boy  to  Walter  with  the 
message  that  Kenrick  wanted  him. 

Walter  came  at  once,  and  Kenrick,  not  trusting  his 
voice  to  speak,  pushed  over  to  him  the  letter  which  con- 
tained the  fatal  news.  In  such  a  case  human  consolation 
cannot  reach  the  sorrow.  It  passes  like  the  idle  wind  over 
the  wounded  heart.  All  that  amid  be  done  by  words,  and 
looks,  and  acts  of  sympathy,  Walter  did  ;  and  then  went 
to  arrange  for  Kenrick's  immediate  journey,  not  returning 
till  he  came  to  tell  him  that  a  carriage  was  waiting  to  take 
him  to  the  train. 

That  evening  Kenrick  reached  the  house  of  death, 
winch  was  still  as  deatli  itself.  The  old  faithful  servant 
o[iened  the  door  to  his  knock,  and  using  her  apron  to  wipe 
her  eyes,  which  were  red  with  long  weeping,  she  ex- 
claimed— 

"  O  Master  Harry,  Master  Harry,  she's  gone.  She  had 
been  reading  and  praying  in  her  room,  and  then  she  came 
down  to  me  quite  bright  and  cheerful,  when  the  spasms 
took  her,  and  I  helped  her  to  bed,  and  she  died." 

Harry  flung  down  his  hat  in  the  hall,  and  rushed  up 
stairs  to  his  mother's  room  ;  but  when  he  had  opened  the 
door,  he  stood  awe-struck  and  motionless  ; — for  he  was 
alone  in  the  presence  of  the  dead. 

The  light  of  winter  sunset  was  streaming  over  her,  whoso 
life  had  been  a  winter  day.  Never  even  in  life  had  he  seen 
her  so  lovely,  so  beautiful  with  the  beauty  of  an  angel,  as 
now  with  the  smiling,  never-broken  calm  of  death  upon  her 
Over  the  pure  pale  face,  from  which  every  wrinkle  made  by 
care  and  sorrow  had  vanished,  streamed  the  last  cold  radi- 
ance of  evening,  illuminating  the  peaceful  smile,  and  seem- 
ing to  linger  lovingly  as  it  lit  up  strange  glories  in  the 
jrolden  hair,  smoothed  in  soft  bands  over  her  brow.  There 
the  lay  with  her  hands  folced,  as  though  in  prayer,  upoD 


378  A   MYSTEKIOUS    LIFE. 

her  qaiet  breast ;  and  the  fitful  fever  of  life  had  passot} 
away.  Dead — with  the  smile  of  heaven  upon  her  lips, 
which  should  never  leave  them  more  1 

Hers  had  been  a  hard,  mysterious  life.  In  all  the  aweet 
bloom  of  ber  youthful  beauty  she  had  left  her  rich  home, 
not,  indeed,  without  the  sanction,  but  against  the  wishes 
of  her  relatives,  to  brave  trial  and  poverty  with  the  man 
ehe  loved.  How  bitter  that  poverty,  how  severe,  how  un« 
expected  those  trials  had  proved  to  be,  we  have  seen 
already  ;  and  then,  still  young,  as  though  she  were  meant 
to  tread  with  her  tender  feet  the  whole  thorny  round  of 
human  sorrow,  she  had  been  left  a  widow  with  an  only  son. 
And  during  the  eight  years  of  her  widowed  loneliness,  her 
relatives  had  neglected  with  cold  pride  both  her  and  her 
orphan  boy  ;  even  that  orphan  boy,  in  the  midst  of  all  his 
love  for  her,  had  by  his  pride  and  waywardness  caused  her 
many  an  anxious  hour  and  many  an  aching  heart,  yet  she 
clung  to  him  with  an  affection  whose  yearning  depth  no 
tongue  can  utter.  And  now,  still  young,  she  had  died  sud- 
denly, and  left  him  on  the  threshold  of  dangerous  jouth 
almost  without  a  friend  in  the  wide  world  ;  had  passed, 
with  a  silence  which  could  never  more  be  broken,  into  the 
eternal  world  ;  had  left  him,  whom  she  loved  with  such  in- 
tensity of  unspeakable  affection,  without  a  word,  without  a 
look,  without  a  sign  of  farewell.  She  had  passed  away  in 
a  moment  to  the  far  off  untroubled  shore,  whence  waving 
hands  cannot  be  seen,  and  no  sounds  of  farewell  voices 
heard.  How  must  that  life  expand  in  the  unconceived 
glory  of  that  new  dawn — the  life  which  on  earth  so  little 
Bunshine  visited  ! 

She  was  one  of  the  most  sweet,  the  most  pure,  the  most 
qnselfish,  the  most  beautifully  blameless  of  all  God's  child- 
ten  ;  and  she  had  lived  in  hardship,  in  neglect,  in  anxiety, 
in  calumny  ;  she  had  lived  among  those  mean  and  wretched 


TOO    LATE.  377 

nllagers,  and  an  angel  was  among  them,  and  they  knew  it 
not ;  she  had  tasted  no  other  drink  but  the  bitter  watera 
of  affliction  :  no  hope  had  brightened,  no  love  sustained  her 
earthly  course.  And  now  her  young  orphan  sou,  nis  heart 
dead  within  him  for  anguish,  his  conscience  tortured  by  re- 
morse, was  kneeling  in  that  agony  which  no  weak  words 
can  paint,  was  kneeling  for  the  last  time,  too  late,  beside 
her  corpse. 

Truly  life  is  a  mystery,  which  the  mind  of  man  cann  .t 
fathom  till  the  glory  of  etetnal  truth  eulighten  it ! 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY-EIGHTH 

THE    STUPOR    BROKEN. 

AFTER  these  days  Kenrick  returned  to  St.  Winifred'^ 
as  he  supposed,  for  the  last  time.  His  guardian,  a 
-  stiff,  unsyrnpathising  man,  had  informed  him,  that  aa 
his  mother's  annuity  ceased  with  her  life,  there  was  very 
little  left  to  support  him.  The  sale,  however,  of  the  house 
at  Fuzby,  and  the  scholarship  which  he  had  just  won, 
would  serve  to  maintain  him  for  a  few  years,  and  mean- 
while his  guardian  would  endeavor  to  secure  for  him  a 
place  in  some  merchant's  office,  where  gradually  he  would 
be  able  to  earn  a  livelihood. 

It  was  a  very  different  life  from  that  which  this  fine, 
clever,  high-spirited  boy  had  imagined  for  himself,  and  he 
looked  forward  to  the  prospect  with  settled  despair.  But 
he  seemed  now  to  regard  himself  as  a  victim  of  destiny,  re- 
gretting nothing,  and  opposing  nothing,  and  caring  for 
nothing.  He  told  Walter  with  bitter  exaggeration  "  that 
he  must  indeed  thank  him  for  giving  up  the  scholarship,  as 
he  supposed  that  it  had  saved  him  from  starvation.  His 
guardian,  who  had  a  family  of  his  own,  didn't  seem  to 
care  a  straw  for  him  ;  and  he  had  no  friend  in  the  world 
besides." 

And  as,  for  days  and  weeks,  he  brooded  ovor  these 
gloomy  thoughts  and  sad  memories,  he  fell  into  a  weary, 
broken,  aimless  kind  of  life.  Many  tried  to  comfort  him, 
bnt  they  could  not  reach  his  sorrow  ;  in  their  several  ways 
(lis  st-hoo'  friends  did  all  they  could  to  cheer  him  np,  but 
Umy  all  fa  "cd.     He  grew  moody,  solitary,  silent.     WalteJ 


SETTLED    DE8PA1E.  379 

ofteu  songht  bim  out,  and  talked  in  his  lively,  cheerful, 
happj  strain  ;  but  even  his  society  Kenrick  seemed  to  shun. 
He  was  in  that  morbid,  unhealthy  state  when  to  meet 
others  inspires  a  positive  shrinking  of  mind.  He  seemed  to 
Lave  no  pleasure  except  in  shutting  himself  up  in  his  stndy, 
and  in  taking  long  lonely  walks  He  performed  his  house 
duties  mechanically,  and  by  routine  ;  when  he  read  the 
lessons  in  chapel,  his  voice  sounded  as  though  it  came  from 
afar,  like  the  voice  of  one  who  dreamed  ;  he  sat  with  his 
books  before  him  for  long  hours,  and  made  no  progress, 
hardly  knowing  the  page  on  which  he  was  employed.  In 
school,  he  sat  listlessly  playing  with  his  pen,  taking  no 
notes,  seeming  as  though  he  heard  nothing,  and  was 
Bcarcely  aware  of  what  was  going  on.  His  friends  could 
not  guess  what  would  come  of  it,  but  they  grew  afraid  for 
him  when  they  saw  him  mope  thus  inconsolably,  and  pine 
away  without  respite,  till  his  eyes  grew  heavy,  and  his  face 
pale  and  thin.  He  had  changed  all  his  ways ;  he  seemed 
to  have  altered  his  very  nature  ;  he  played  no  games,  took 
no  interest  in  anything,  and  dropped  all  his  old  pursuits. 
His  work  was  quite  spiritless,  and  he  grew  so  absent  that 
he  forgot  the  commonest  occupations  of  every  day — living 
as  in  a  waking  sleep. 

Power  and  Walter,  in  talking  of  him,  often  wondered 
whether  it  was  the  uncertainty  of  his  future  prospects 
wnich  had  thus  affected  him  ;  and  in  the  full  belief  that 
this  must  have  something  to  do  with  his  morbid  melancholy, 
Power  mentioned  the  matter  to  Dr.  Lane  as  soon  as  he 
had  the  opportunity. 

Dr.  Lane  had  observed,  with  much  pity,  the  depression 
rhich  had  fastened  on  Kenrick  like  a  disease.  He  was  not 
surprised  to  see  him  come  back  deeply  affected  ;  but  if 
"  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts."  its  sor« 
rows  are  usually  short  and  transient,  and  he  looked  upon 


880  NOBLE    SCHEMES. 

it  as  unnatural  that  Kenrick's  grief  should  seem  thus  in- 
curable, and  that  a  young  boy  like  him  should  thus  refuse 
to  be  comforted.  It  was  not  long  before  he  introduced 
the  subject,  while  talking  to  Power  after  looking  over  his 
composition. 

"  Kenrick  has  just  been  here,  Power,"  he  said  ;  "  it 
pains  me  to  see  him  so  sadly  altered.  I  can  hardly  get 
him  to  speak  a  word  ;  all  things  seem  equally  indifferent  to 
him,  and  his  eyes  look  to  me  as  though  they  were  always 
ready  to  overflow  with  tears.  What  can  we  manage  to  do 
f  r  h'm  ?  Would  not  a  little  cheerful  society  brighten  him 
up  ?  We  had  him  here  the  other  day,  but  he  did  not 
speak  once  the  whole  evening.  Can't  even  Henderson  get 
him  to  smile  somehow  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  not,  sir,"  said  Power.  "  Henderson  and 
Evson  and  I  have  all  tried,  but  he  seems  to  avoid  seeing 
any  one.  It  makes  him  ill  at  ease  apparently.  I  am 
afraid,  for  one  thing,  that  he  is  vexing  himself  about  not 
being  allowed  to  return,  and  about  being  sent  into  a  mer- 
chant's office,  which  he  detests." 

"  If  that  is  all,  there  can  be  no  difficulty  about  it,"  said 
the  Doctor;  "  we  have  often  kept  deserving  boys  here,  when 
funds  failed,  aud  I  can  easily  assure  his  guardian,  without 
his  knowing  of  it,  that  the  expense  need  not  for  a  moment 
stand  in  the  way  of  his  return." 

These  generous  acts  are  common  at  St.  Winifred's,  for 
she  is  indeed  an  alma  mater  to  all  her  children  ;  and  since 
Kenrick  had  confided  his  particular  sorrow  to  Walter 
Walter  undertook  to  remove  it  by  telling  him  that  Di 
Lane  would  persuade  his  guardian  to  let  him  return 
Kenrick  appeared  glad  of  the  news,  as  though  it  brought 
him  a  little  relief,  but  it  made  no  long  change  in  his  pre- 
sent ways. 

Nor  even  did  a  still  further  piece  of  good  fortune,  whes 


CEUBHM)    AND    STUPEFIED.  38] 

his  guardian  wrote  and  told  him  that,  on  condition  of  his 
being  sent  to  the  University,  an  unknown  and  anonymous: 
friend  had  placed  at  his  disposal  £100  a  year,  to  be  con- 
tinued until  such  time  as  he  was  able  to  maintain  himself ; 
and  that  this  generous  gift  would  of  course  permit  of  his 
receiving  the  advantage  of  an  Oxford  training,  and  obvi- 
ate the  necessity  of  his  entering  an  office,  by  clearing  for 
him  the  way  to  one  of  the  learned  professions.  This  news 
stirred  him  up  a  little,  and  for  a  time  ; — but  not  for  long. 
He  looked  upon  it  all  as  destiny  :  he  could  not  guess,  he 
hardly  tried  to  surmise,  who  the  unknown  friend  could  be. 
Nor  did  he  know  till  years  afterwards  that  the  aid  was 
given  by  the  good  and  wealthy  Sir  Lawrence  Power,  at 
his  son's  earnest  and  generous  request.  For  Power  did 
this  kind  deed  by  stealth,  and  mentioned  it  to  no  one,  not 
even  to  Walter  ;  and  Kenrick  little  thought  when  he  told 
the  good  news  to  Power,  and  received  his  kind  congratula- 
tions, that  Power  had  known  of  it  before  he  did  himself. 
But  still,  in  spite  of  all,  Kenrick  seemed  sick  at  heart,  and 
his  life  crept  on  in  a  sluggish  course,  like  a  river  that  loses 
its  bright  stream  in  the  desert,  and  all  whose  silver  runnels 
are  choked  up  with  dust  and  sand. 

The  fact  was,  that  the  blows  of  punishment  had  fallen 
on  him  so  fast  and  so  heavily  that  he  felt  crushed  to  the 
veiw  earth.  The  expulsion  of  the  reprobates  with  whom 
he  had  consorted,  his  degradation  and  censure,  Wilton's 
theft -and  removal,  the  violent  tension  and  revulsion  of  feel 
ing  caused  by  his  awakened  conscience,  his  confession,  and 
the  gnawing  sense  of  shame,  the  failure  of  his  ambition,  and 
then  his  mother's  death  coming  as  the  awful  climax  of  the 
calamities  he  had  undergone,  and  followed  by  the  cold,  un- 
feeling harshness  of  his  guardian,  and  the  damping  of  his 
nopes — all  these  things  had  broken  the  boy's  spirit  utterly. 
Disgrace,   and  sorrow,  and   bereavement,   and   the  stings 


382  A    BROKEN    SPIRIT. 

of  remorse,  and  the  suffering  of  punishment — the  forfeiture 
of  a  guilty  past,  and  the  gloom  of  a  lonely  future — these 
things  unmanned  him,  bowed  him  down,  poisoned  his  tran 
quillity  of  mind,  unhinged  every  energy  of  his  soul,  seemed 
to  dry  up  the  very  springs  of  life.  The  hand  of  man  could 
not  rouse  him  from  the  stupor  caused  by  the  chastisements 
cf  God. 

But  the  rousing  came  at  _ast,  and  in  due  time  ;  and  it 
all  came  from  a  very  little  matter — so  slight  a  matter  as  a 
little  puff  of  seaward  air.  A  trivial  accident,  you  will  say; 
yes,  one  of  those  very  trivial  accidents  that  so  often  affect 
the  destinies  of  a  lifetime,  and 

"  Shape  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will." 

Kenrick,  as  usual,  was  walking  along  the  top  of  the 
cliffs  alone — restless,  aimless,  and  miserable — "mooning," 
as  the  boys  would  have  called  it — unable  even  to  analyse 
his  own  thoughts,  conscious  only  that  it  was  folly  in  him  to 
nurse  this  long-continued  and  hopeless  melancholy,  yet 
quite  incapable  of  making  the  one  strong  effort  which 
would  have  enabled  him  to  throw  it  off.  And  in  this 
mood  he  sat  down  near  the  cliff,  thinking  of  nothing,  but 
watching,  with  idle  guesses  as  to  their  destination  and  his- 
tory, the  few  vessels  that  passed  by  on  the  horizon.  The 
evening  was  drawing  in,  cold  and  windy  ;  and  suddenly 
remembering  that  he  must  be  back  by  tea-time,  he  rose  up 
to  return.  The  motion  displaced  his  straw  hat,  and  the 
next  moment  the  breeze  had  carried  it  a  little  way  ever 
the  edge  of  the  cliff,  where  it  was  caught  in  a  low  bush  of 
tamarisk.  It  rested  but  a  few  feet  below  him,  and  tho 
chalky  front  cf  the  cliff  was  sufficiently  rough  to  admit  of 
his  descent.  He  climbed  to  it,  and  had  just  succeeded  in 
iiscngaging  i  with  his  foot,  when,  before  he  had  time  to 


A    DESCENT.  383 

seize  it,  it  again  fell,  and  rolled  down  some  thirty  feet 
Kenrick,  finding  that  he  had  been  able  to  get  down  with 
tolerable  ease,  determined  to  continue  his  descer.t  in  order 
to  secure  it.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  the  hat  was 
of  no  great  importance,  and  that  it  would  have  been  infi- 
nitely less  trouble  to  walk  home  without  it,  and  buy  a  new 
one,  than  to  run  the  risk  and  encounter  the  trouble  of  his 
climb.  However,  he  did  manage  to  reach  it,  and  put  it 
on  with  some  satisfaction,  when,  as  he  was  beginning  to 
remount,  a  considerable  mass  of  chalk  crumbled  away  under 
his  feet,  and  made  him  cling  on  with  both  hands  to  avoid 
being  precipitated.  He  had  been  able  to  get  down  well 
enough,  because,  if  the  chalk  slipped,  he  glided  on  safely 
with  it,  but  in  climbing  up  he  was  obliged  to  press  his  feet 
strongly  downwards  in  order  to  gain  his  spring  ;  and  every 
time  he  did  this,  he  found  that  the  chalk  kept  giving  way, 
exhausting  him  with  futile  efforts,  filling  his  shoes  with  dust 
and  pebbles,  slipping  into  his  clothes,  and  blinding  his 
eyes.  Every  person  who  has  climbed  at  all,  whether  in  the 
Alps  or  elsewhere,  knows  that  it  is  easy  enough  to  get  down 
places  which  it  is  almost  impossible  to  mount  again  ;  and 
Kenrick,  after  many  attempts,  found  that  he  had  been  most 
imprudent,  and  becoming  seriously  alarmed,  was  forced, 
when  he  had  quite  tired  himself  with  fruitless  exertions  and 
had  once  or  twice  nearly  fallen,  to  give  up  the  attempt  alto- 
gether, and  do  his  best  to  secure  another  way  of  escape. 

This  was  to  climb  down  quite  to  the  bottom  of  the  cliff, 
and  make  his  way,  as  best  he  could,  over  rocks  and  shingle 
round  the  bluff  which  shut  in  one  side  of  the  little  bay  on 
which  he  stood,  and  along  the  narrow  line  of  beach,  to  St 
Winifred's  Head.  This  was  possible  sometimes,  and  he 
fancied  that  the  tide  was  sufficiently  far  out  to  enable  him 
to  do  it  now.  At  any  rate  herein  lay,  so  far  as  he  saw,  his 
only  chance  of  safety. 


884  TO  the  cliff's  foot. 

Down  the  cliff  then  he  climbed  once  more,  and  though  it 
was  some  ninety  feet  high,  he  found  no  difficulty  in  doing 
this,  with  care,  till  he  came  to  a  place  where  its  surface 
was  precipitous  for  a  height  of  some  ten  feet,  worn  smooth 
by  the  beating  of  the  waves.  Holding  with  his  hands  to 
the  edge,  he  let  himself  fall  down  this  height,  and  found 
himself  standing,  a  little  shaken  though  unhurt,  in  a  small 
pebbly  bay  or  indentation  of  the  shore  formed  by  a  curve 
in  the  line  of  cliffs,  with  a  series  of  headlands  and  preci- 
pices trending  away  on  one  side  far  to  his  right,  and  with 
the  Ness  of  St.  Winifred's  reaching  out  to  his  left.  Once 
round  that  headland  he  would  be  safe,  and  indeed  if  he 
once  got  beyond  the  little  pebbly  inlet  where  he  stood,  he 
hoped  to  find  some  place  where  he  might  scale  the  rocks, 
and  so  cross  the  promontory  and  get  home. 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  and  he  ran  with  all  his 
speed  over  the  loose  stones  towards  the  bluff,  letting  the 
unlucky  straw  hat  drop  on  the  shore,  as  it  had  no  string, 
and  it  impeded  him  to  be  obliged  to  hold  it  on  with  one 
hand.  Reaching  the  end  of  the  shingle,  he  stumbled  with 
difficulty  over  some  scattered  rocks  slimy  with  ooze  and 
seagrass,  hoping  with  intense  hope  that  when  he  rounded 
the  projection  of  cliff,  he  would  see  a  line  of  beach,  narrow 
indeed,  but  still  wide  enough  to  allow  of  his  running  along 
it  before  the  tide  had  come  in,  and  reaching  some  part  of 
St.  Winifred's  Head  which  he  might  be  able  to  scale  by 
means  of  a  sheep-path,  or  with  the  help  of  hands  and  knees. 
Very  quickly  he  reached  the  corner,  and  hardly  dared  to 
look  ;  but  when  he  did  look,  a  glance  showed  him  that  but 
slender  hope  was  left.  At  one  spot  the  tide  bad  already 
reached  the  foot  of  the  cliffs  ;  but  if  he  could  get  to  that 
spot  while  the  water  was  yet  sufficiently  shallow  to  allow 
him  to  ran  through  it,  he  trusted  that  he  might  yet  be 
§aved.     The  place  was  far  off.  but  he  ran  and  ran  ;  and 


A    RACK    WITH    THE    SEA.  3S5 

ever  as?  lie  ran  the  place  seemed  to  get  farther  and  farther, 
and  his  knees  failed  liira  for  fatigue,  as  he  sank  at  every  step 
in  the  noisy  and  yielding  mixture  of  sand  and  pebbles. 

Reader,  have  you  ever  run  a  race  with  the  sea  ?  If  not, 
accept  the  testimony  of  one  who  has  had  to  do  it  more 
than  once,  that  it  is  a  very  painful  and  exciting  race.  I  ran 
it  once  successfully  with  one  who,  though  we  then  escaped, 
has  since  been  overtaken  and  swallowed  up  by  the  great 
dark  waves  of  that  other  sea,  whose  tides  are  ever  advanc- 
ing upon  us,  and  must  sooner  or  later  absorb  us  all — the 
great  dark  waves  of  Death.  But  to  take  your  life  in  youi 
hand,  and  run,  and  to  know  that  the  sea  is  gaining  upon 
you,  and  that,  however  great  the  speed  witli  which  fear 
wings  your  feet,  your  subtle  hundred-handed  enemy  is  in- 
tercepting you  with  its  many  deep  inlets,  and  docs  not  bate 
an  instant's  speed,  or  withhold  itself  a  hair's-breadth  for  all 
your  danger — is  an  awful  thing  to  feel.  And  then  to  see 
that  it  has  intercepted  you  is  worst  of  all  ; — it  is  a  moment 
not  to  be  forgotten.  And  all  this  was  what  Kenrick  had 
to  undergo.  He  ran  until  he  panted  for  breath,  and  stum- 
bled for  very  weariness  ; — but  he  was  too  late.  A  broad 
sheet  of  water  now  bathed  the  bases  of  the  cliff,  and  the 
waves,  as  though  angry  with  the  opposing  breeze,  was  leap- 
ing up  with  a  frantic  hiss,  and  deluging  the  rocks  with 
sheets  of  spray  and  foam. 

Experience  had  taught  him  with  what  speed  and  fury  on 
that  dangerous  coast  the  treacherous  tide  came  in.  There 
was  not  a  moment  to  spare,  and  as  he  flew  back  to  the 
small  shelter  of  the  pebbly  cove,  the  water  was  already 
gliding  close  to  him,  and  stretching  its  arms  like  a  hungry 
medusa  round  the  seaweed-matted  lumps  of  scattered  rock 
over  which  he  trode. 

Ilis  face  wetted  with  the  salt  dew,  his  brown  hair  scat- 
tered on  the  rising  wind,  he  flew  rather  than  ran  once  moro 

11 


386  BEATEN. 

to  the  place  where  he  had  descended,  to  renew  (he  wild 
attempt  to  scale  the  cliff  which  seemed  to  afford  him  th« 
only  shadow  of  a  hope.  Yet  a  mere  glance  might  have 
been  enough  to  show  him  that  this  hope  was  vain.  Both 
at  that  spot,  and  as  far  as  he  could  see,  the  sheer  base  of 
the  cliff  offered  him  no  place  where  it  was  possible  to  rest  a 
foot,  no  place  where  he  could  mount  three  feet  above  the 
shingle.  But  his  scrutiny  brought  home  to  him  another 
appalling  fact — namely,  that  the  sea-mark,  where  the  high- 
est tide  fringed  its  barriers  with  a  triumphal  wreath  of 
hanging  seaweed,  and  below  which  no  foliage  grew,  was 
high  up  upon  the  cliff,  far  above  his  head. 

It  wras  too  late  to  curse  his  rashness  and  folly,  nor  would 
lie  even  try  to  face  his  frightful  situation  till  he  had  thought 
of  every  conceivable  means  by  which  to  escape.  A  friend 
of  mine  had,  and  I  suppose  still  has,  a  pen-and-ink  sketch 
which  made  one  shudder  to  look  at  it.  All  that  you  see  is 
a  long  sea-wall,  apparently  the  side  of  some  stone  pier,  so 
drawn  as  to  give  the  impression  of  great  height,  and  the 
top  of  it  not  visible  in  the  picture  ;  by  the  side  of  this  rip- 
ples and  plashes  a  long  dark  reach  of  sea  water,  lazily 
waving  the  weeds  which  it  has  planted  in  the  crevices  r," 
stone,  and  extending,  like  the  Avail  itself,  farther  than  yon 
can  guess.  The  only  living  thing  in  the  picture  is  a  single, 
spent,  shaggy  dog,  its  paws  rested  for  a  moment  on  a  sort 
of  hollow  in  the  wall,  and  half  its  dripping  body  emergent 
from  the  dark  water.  It  is  staring  up  with  a  look  of  de- 
spondent exhaustion,  yet  mute  appeal.  The  sketch  power- 
tilly  recalls  and  typifies  the  exact  position  in  which  poor 
Kenrick  now  found  himself  placed  : — before  him  the  hun- 
gry, angry  darkeniug  sea,  behind  him  the  inaccessible  bas- 
tions of  forbidding  cliff.  It  is  a  horrible  predicament,  and 
those  can  most  thrillingly  appreciate  it  who,  like  the  author, 
have  been  in  it  themselves. 


THE    LAST    CHANCE.  387 

There  was  yet  one  thing,  and  one  thing  onlj,  to  be  tried, 
end  it  was  truly  the  refuge  of  desperation.  Kenriek  was  an 
excellent  swimmer  ;  many  a  time  in  bathing  at  St.  Willi 
fred's,  even  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  he  had  struck  out 
boldly  far  into  the  bay,  even  as  far  as  the  huge  tumbling 
red  buoy,  that  spent  its  restless  life  in  "  ever  climbing  with 
the  climbing  wave."  If  he  could  swim  for  pleasure,  could 
he  not  swim  for  life  ?  It  was  true  that  the  swim  before 
him  was,  beyond  all  comparison,  farther  and  more  hazard- 
ous than  he  had  ever  dreamt  of.  But  swimming  is  an  art 
which  inspires  extraordinary  confidence  ;  it  makes  us  fancy 
that  drowning  is  impossible  to  us,  because  we  cannot 
imagine  ourselves  so  fatigued  as  to  fail  in  keeping  above 
water.  Kenriek  knew  that  the  attempt  was  only  one  to  be 
undertaken  at  dire  extremity  ;  but  that  extremity  had  now 
arrived,  and  it  was  literally  the  last  chance  that  lay  between 
him  and — what  he  would  not  think  of  yet. 

So,  in  the  wintry  air,  with  the  strong  wind  blowing 
keenly,  and  the  red  gleam  of  sunset  already  beginning  to 
fail,  he  flung  off  his  clothes  on  the  damp  beach,  and  as  one 
who  rushes  on  a  forlorn  hope  in  the  teeth  of  an  enemy,  he 
ran  down  the  rough,  uneven  shore,  hardly  noticing  how 
much  it  hurt  his  feet,  and  plunged  boldly  into  the  hideous 
yeast  of  seething  waves.  The  cold  made  him  shiver  and 
shiver  in  every  limb  ;  his  teeth  chattered  ;  he  was  afraid 
of  cramp  ;  the  slimy  seaweeds  that  his  feet  touched,  the 
tangled  and  rotting  strings  of  sea-twine  that  waved  about 
his  legs,  sent  a  strong  shudder  through  him  ;  and  there  was 
a  sick,  clammy  feeling  about  the  frothy  spume  through 
which  he  had  to  plunge.  But  when  he  had  once  ploughed 
his  way  through  all  this,  and  was  fairly  out  of  his  depth, 
the  exercise  warmed  him,  and  lie  rose  with  a  swimmer's  tri- 
umphant motion  over  the  yielding  waves  On  and  on  he 
awani,  thinking  only  of  that,  not  looking   before  him  ;  bui 


388  THE    BWIMMEK. 

when  he  began  to  feel  quite  tired,  and  did  look,  he  saw 
that  he  was  not  nearly  half  way  to  the  headland.  He  saw, 
too,  how  the  breakers  were  lashing  and  fighting  with  the 
iron  shore  which  he  was  madly  striving  to  reach.  Even  if 
he  could  swim  so  far — and  he  now  fdt  that  he  could  not — 
how  could  he  ever  land  at  such  a  spot  ?  Would  not  one 
of  those  billows  toss  him  up  on  its  playful  spray,  and  dash 
him  as  it  dashed  its  own  unpitied  offspring,  dead  upon  the 
rocks  ?  And  as  this  conviction  dawned  on  him,  withering 
all  his  energy  of  heart,  the  wind  wailed  over  him,  the  water 
bubbled  in  his  ears,  and  the  sea-mew,  flapping  as  it  flew 
past  him,  uttered  above  his  head  its  plaintive  scream.  His 
heart  sank  within  him.  With  a  quick  motion  he  turned  in 
the  water,  and  with  arms  wearied  out  he  swam  back  again, 
as  for  dear  life,  towards  the  little  landing-place  which  alone 
divided  him  from  instant  death  ;  struggling  on  heavily,  with 
limbs  so  weary  that  he  could  barely  move  them  through 
the  waves,  whose  increasing  swell  often  broke  around  his 
head.  Already  the  tide  had  reached  the  spot  where  he 
had  let  his  straw  hat  drop  on  the  beach  ;  the  sea  was 
scornfully  playing  with  it,  tossing  it  up  and  down,  whirling 
it  round  and  round  like  a  feather  ;  the  wind  blew  it  to  the 
sea,  and  the  sea,  receiving  no  gifts  from  an  enemy,  flung  it 
back  again  ;  but  the  wind  carried  the  day,  and  while  Keii- 
rick  was  wringing  the  brine  out  of  his  dripping  hair,  and 
huddling  his  clothes  again  over  his  wet,  benumbed,  and 
aching  limbs,  he  saw  the  straw  hat  fairly  launched,  and 
floating  away  over  the  waves. 

And  then  it  was  that,  as  the  vision  of  Sudden  Death 
glared  out  before  his  eyes,  and  the  Horror  of  it  leapt  upon 
him,  that  a  scream — a  loud,  wild,  echoing  scream,  which 
Bounded  strange  in  that  lonely  place,  and  rose  above  the 
rude  song  that  the  wind  was  now  singing — broke  from  his 
Olanched  lips.     And   another,  and   another,  and   then  si 


THE    VISION    OF    SUDDEN    DEATH.  389 

lence  ;  for  Kenrick  was  now  crouching  at  the  cliff's  foot 
furthest  off  from   the  swelling  flood,  with   his  eyes  flxed 
motionless  in  a  wild  stare  on  its  advancing  line  of  foam. 
He  was  conjuring  up  before  his  imagination  the  time  when 
those  waves  should  have  reached  him  ;  should  have  swept 
him  away  from  the  shelter  of  the  shore,  or  risen  above  hia 
Lips  ;  should  have  forced  him  again  to  struggle  and  swim, 
until  his  strength,  already  impaired  by  hunger,  and  thirst, 
and  cold,  and  fatigue,  should  have  failed  him  altogether, 
and  he  would  sink,  and  the  water  girgle  wildly  in  his  ears, 
and  stop  his  breath — and  all  would  be  still.     And  when  he 
had  pictured  this  scene  to  himself  with  a  vividness  which 
made  him  experience  all  its  agony,  for  a  time  his  mind  flew 
back  through  all  the  faultful   past  up  to  that  very  day  ; 
memory  lighted  her  lantern,  and  threw  its  blaze  on  every 
dark  corner,  on  every  hidden  recess,  every  forgotten  nook 
— left  no  spot  unsearched,  unilluminated  with  sudden  flash  ; 
— all  his  past  sins  were  before  him,  words,  looks,  thoughts, 
everything.     As  when  a  man  descends  with  a  light  in  his 
diving-bell  into  the  heaving  sea,  the  strange  monsters  of 
the  deep,  attracted  by  the  unknown  glimmer   throng  ami 
wallow  terribly  around  him,  so  did  uncouth  thoughts  and 
forgotten  sins  welter  in  fearful  multitudes  round  this  light 
of  memory  in  the  deep  sea  of  that  poor  human  soul.     And 
finally,  as  though  in  demon  voices,  came  this  message  whis- 
pered to  him,  shouted  to  him  tauntingly,  rising  and  falling 
with  maddening  alternation  on  the  rising  and  falling  of  the 
wind  :  "  You  have  been  wasting  your  life,  moodily  aban- 
doning yourself  to  idle  misery,  neglecting  your  duties,  let- 
ting your  talents  rust —  God  will  take  from  you  the  life  you 
know  not  how  to  use."     And  then,  as  though  in  answer  to 
this,  another  voice,  low,  soft,  sweet,  that  his  heart  knew 
well — another  voice  filling  the  interspaces  of  the  others 
with  unseen  music,  whispered  to  him  soothingly  :  "  It  shall 


i 


J!1)0  THE    TWO    LISTENERS. 

be  given  you  again,  use  it  better,  use  it  better  ;  awake,  us« 
it  better,  it  shall  be  given  you  again," 

Those  three  wild  shrieks  of  his  had  been  heard  ;  he  did 
Dot  know  it,  but  they  had  been  heard.  The  whole  coast 
was  in  general  so  lonely  that  you  could  usually  pace  it 
for  miles  without  meeting  a  single  human  being,  and  it 
never  even  occurred  to  him  that  some  one  might  pass  that 
way.  But  it  so  happened  that  the  boisterous  weather  of 
the  last  few  days  had  cast  away  a  schooner  at  a  place 
some  five  miles  from  St.  Winifred's,  and  Walter  Evson  had 
walked  with  Charlie  to  see  the  wreck,  and  was  returning 
along  the  cliff.  As  they  passed  the  spot  where  Kenrick 
was,  they  had  been  first  startled  and  then  horrified  by 
those  shrieks,  and  while  they  stood  listening  another 
came  to  their  ears,  more  piercing,  more  heart-rending  than 
the  rest. 

"  Good  heavens,  there  must  be  some  one  down  there  I" 
exclaimed  Walter. 

"  Why,  how  could  any  one  have  got  there  ?"  asked 
Charlie. 

"  Well,  but  didn't  you  hear  some  one  scream  V 

'  Yes,  several  times.  O  Walter,  do  look  here."  Charlie 
pointed  to  the  traces  on  the  cliff  that  some  one  had  de- 
scended there. 

"  Who  could  have  wanted  to  get  down  there,  I  wonder  ; 
and  for  what  possible  purpose  V 

"  Do  you  see  any  one,  Walter  ?" 

"  No,  I  don't ;  there's  nothing  but  the  sea," — for  Ken- 
rick, crouching  under  the  cliff,  was  hidden  from  sight,  and 
now  the  tide  had  come  up  so  far  that,  from  the  summit, 
none  of  the  shingle  was  visible — "  but  what's  that  ?" 

"  Why,  Walter,  it's  a  straw  hat ;  it  must  be  one  of  onr 
fellows  down  there  ;  I  see  the  ribbon  distinctly,  dark  olu« 
und  white  twisted  together." 


THE    STRAW    HAT.  391 

41  Dark  blue  and  while!  why,  then,  it  must  be  some  ont 
in  the  foot-ball  eleven  :  Charlie,  it  must  be  Kenrick  I 
Heavens,  what  can  have  happened  ?" 

"  Kenrick  !"  they  both  shouted  at  the  top  of  their 
voices.  But  the  cliff  was  high,  and  the  wind,  momently 
rising  to  a  blast,  swept  away  their  shouts,  and  although 
Kenrick  might  have  heard  them  distinctly  under  ordinary 
circumstances,  they  now  only  mingled  with,  and  gave  new 
form  and  body  to,  the  wild  madness  which  terror  was  be- 
ginning to  kindle  in  his  brain.  So  they  shouted,  and  no 
answer  came. 

"  No  answer  comes,  Charlie  ;  but  there's  some  one  down 
there  as  sure  as  we  are  here,"  said  Walter.  Charlie  had 
already  begun  to  try  and  descend  the  face  of  the  cliff. 
"  Stop,  stop,  Charlie,"  said  Walter,  seizing  him  and  drag- 
ging him  up  again,  "  you  mustn't  try  that  ; — nay,  Charlie, 
you  really  must  not.  If  it's  possible,  /  will."  He  tried, 
but  three  minutes  showed  him  that,  however  practicable  a 
descent  might  be,  an  ascent  afterwards  would  be  wholly 
beyond  his  power.  Besides,  if  he  did  descend,  what  could 
he  do  ?  Clearly  nothing  ;  and  with  another  plan  in  view, 
he  with  difficulty  reached  his  former  position. 

11  Nothing  to  be  done  that  way,  Charlie."  At  that  mo- 
ment another  cry  came,  for  Kenrick,  in  a  momentary  lull 
of  the  wind,  had  fancied  that  he  had  heard  sounds  and 
voices  other  than  those  of  his  perturbed  and  agitated  fancy. 
"  Ha  !  you  heard  that  ?"  said  Walter,  and  he  shouted 
again,  but  no  sound  was  returned 

"  We  must  fly  to  St.  Winifred's,  Charlie  ;  there's  a  boy 
down  on  the  shore  beyond  a  doubt.  You  stay  behind,  if 
you  like,  for  you  can't  run  as  fast  as  me.  I'm  afraid, 
though,  it's  not  the  least  good.  St.  Winifred's  is  three 
miles  from  here,  and  long  before  I've  got  help  and  come 
Ibree  miles  back,  it's  clear  that  no  one  cau  be  alive  dowr 


392  THE  OLD  BOAT. 

there  ;  still  we  must  try,"  and  he  was  starting  when  Charlie 
seized  his  arm. 

"  Don't  you  remember,  Walter,  the  hut  at  Bryce's  cove  f 
there's  an  old  boat  there,  and  it's  a  mile  and  a  half  nearer 
than  St.  Win's." 

"  Capital  boy,  Charlie,"  said  Walter  ;  "  how  good  of 
you  to  think  of  it ; — it's  the  very  thing.     Come." 

They  flew  along  at  full  speed,  Walter  taking  Charlie's 
hand,  and  saying,  "  Never  mind  stretching  your  legs  for 
once,  even  if  you  are  tired.  How  well  you  run  J  we  shall 
be  there  in  no  time." 

They  gained  the  cove,  flew  clown  the  steep  narrow  path, 
and  reached  the  hut  door.  Their  summons  was  only  ans« 
wered  by  the  furious  barking  of  a  dog.     No  one  was  in. 

"  Never  mind  ;  there's  the  boat  ;  we  must  take  French 
leave;"  and  Walter,  springing  down,  hastily  unmoored  it. 

"  Wah  !  what  a  horrid  old  tub,  and  it  wants  baling, 
Walter." 

"  We  can't  stay  for  that,  Charlie  boy  ;  it's  a  good  thing 
that  Semlyn  Lake  has  taught  us  both  to  row,  isn't  it  ?" 

"O  yes  ;  don't  you  wish  we  had  the  little  '  Pearl'  here 
now,  Walter  ?  Wouldn't  we  make  it  fly,  instead  of  this 
cranky  old  wretch  ?" 

"  Well,  we  must  fancy  that  this  is  the  '  Pearl,'  and  this 
Semlyn  Lake,"  said  Walter,  wading  up  to  the  knees  to 
launch  the  boat,  and  springing  in  when  he  had  given  it  the 
final  shove. 

They  were  excellent  rowers,  but  Charlie  had  never  tried 
his  skill  in  a  sea  like  that,  and  was  timid,  for  which  there 
Was  every  excuse. 

"  How  very  rough  it  is,  Walter,"  he  said,  as  the  boat 
tossed  up  and  down  like  an  egg-shell  on  the  high  waves. 

"Keep  up  your  heart,  Charlie,  and- row  stead  ly  ;  don't 
be  afraid  ' 


TO   THE    RESCUE.  393 

"  No,  Walter,  I  won't,  as  you're  with  me  ;  but— 
Walter  ?" 

"  Well  V> 

"  It'll  be  dark  in  half  an  hour  " 

"  Not  quite,  and  we  shall  be  there  by  that  time  ;  we 
needn't  go  far  out,  and  the  tide's  with  us."  So  the  two 
brave  brothers  rowed  steadily  on,  with  only  one  more  re- 
mark from  Charlie,  ushered  in  by  the  word, 

"  Walter  ?" 

"  Anything-  more  to  frighten  me  with,  Charlie  ?"  he  ans- 
wered, cheerily  ;  "  you  shan't  succeed." 

"  Well,  Walter,"  he  answered,  with  a  little  touch  of 
shame,  "  I  was  only  going  to  say  that,  if  you  look,  you'll 
see  that  your  oar's  been  broken,  and  is  only  spliced  to- 
gether." 

11  I've  seen  it  all  along,  Charlie,  and  will  use  the  oai 
gingerly  ;  and  now,  Charlie,  I  see  you're  a  little  frightened, 
my  boy.  I'm  going  to  brace  you  up.  Rest  on  your  oar  a 
minute." 

He  did  so.     "  Now  turn  round  and  look." 

He  pointed  with  his  finger  to  a  dark  figure,  now  dis- 
tinctly seen,  cowering  low  at  the  white  cliff's  foot. 

"  0  Walter,  I'm  ready  ;  I  won't  say  a  word  more  ;"  and 
he  leant  to  his  oar,  and  plied  it  like  a  man. 

It  is  a  pretty,  a  delightful  thing,  in  idle  summer-time  to 
lie  at  full  length  upon  the  beach  on  some  ambrosial  summer 
evening,  when  a  glow  floats  over  the  water,  whose  calm 
surface  is  tenderly  rippled  with  gold  and  blue.  And  while 
the  children  play  beside  you,  dabbling  and  paddling  in  the 
wavelets,  and  digging  up  the  ridges  of  yellow  sand,  which 
take  the  print  of  their  pattering  footsteps,  nothing  is  more 
pleasant  than  to  let  the  transparent  stream  of  the  quiet 
tide  plash  musically  with  its  light  and  motion  to  your  verj 
teet  ;  nothing  more  pleasant  than  to  listen  to  its  silken 


394  WHAT   THEY    SAW. 

murmurs,  and  to  watch  it  flow  upwards  with  its  beneficent 
coolness,  and  take  possession  of  the  shore.  But  it  is  a.  very 
different  thing  when  there  rises  behind  you  a  wall  of  frown- 
ing cliff,  precipitous,  inaccessible,  affording  no  hope  of  re- 
fuge ;  and  when,  for  the  golden  calm  of  summer  eventide, 
you  have  the  cheerless  drawing  in  of  a  loud  and  stormy 
February  night  ;  and  when  you  have  the  furious  hissing 
violence  of  rock-and-wind-struck  breakers  for  the  violet- 
colored  margin  of  rippling  waves — knowing  that  the  wind 
Is  wailing  forth  your  requiem,  and  that,  with  the  fall  of 
every  breaker,  unseen  hands  are  ringing  your  knell  of 
death. 

The  boy  crouched  there,  his  face  white  as  the  cliffs  above 
him,  his  undried  limbs  almost  powerless  for  cold,  and  his 
clothes  wetted  through  and  through  with  spray — pushing 
aside  every  moment  the  dripping  locks  of  hair  which  the 
wind  scattered  over  his  forehead,  that  he  might  look  with 
hollow,  staring  eyes  on  the  Death  which  was  advancing  to- 
wards him,  wrapping  him  already  in  its  huge  mantle-folds, 
calling  aloud  to  him,  beckoning  him,  freezing  him  to  the 
very  bone  with  the  touch  of  its  icy  hand. 

And  the  brutal  tide  coming  on,  according  to  the  pitiless 
irreversible  certainty  of  the  fixed  laws  that  governed  it — 
coming  on  like  a  huge  wallowing  monster,  dumb  and  blind 
■ — knew  not,  and  recked  not,  of  the  young  life  that  quivered 
c«i  the  verge  of  its  advance — that  it  was  about  to  devour 
remorselessly,  with  no  wrath  to  satiate,  with  no  hunger  to 
appease.  None  the  less  for  the  boy's  presence,  unregardful 
of  his  growing  horror  and  wild  suspense,  it  continued  it? 
uncouth  play — leaping  about  the  rocks,  springing  upwards, 
and  stretching  high  hands  to  pluck  down  the  cliffs,  seeming 
to  laugh  as  it  fell  ba.ck  shattered  and  exhausted,  but  unsub- 
dued ; — charging  up  sometimes  like  a  herd  of  wild  white 
horses,  bounding  one  over  the  other,  shaking  their  foamy 


IN    THE    WAVES.  395 

manes ; — hissing  sometimes  like  a  brood  of  huge  sea-ser- 
pents, as  it  insinuated  its  winding  streams  among  tlu 
boulders  of  the  shore. 

It  might  have  seemed  to  be  in  sport  with  him  as  it  ran 
first  up  to  his  feet,  and  playfully  splashed  him,  as  a  bather 
might  splash  a  person  on  the  shore  from  head  to  heel,  and 
then  ran  back  again  for  a  moment,  and  then  up  again  a 
little  farther,  till,  as  he  sat  on  the  extreme  line  of  the  shore 
and  with  his  back  huddled  up  close  against  the  cliff,  it  first 
wetted  the  soles  of  his  feet,  and  then  was  over  his  shoes, 
then  ankle  dee}),  then  knee  deep,  then  to  the  waist.  Al- 
ready it  seemed  to  buoy  him  up  ; — he  knew  that  in  a  few 
moments  more  he  would  be  forced  to  swim,  and  the  last 
struggle  would  commence. 

His  brain  was  dull,  his  senses  blunted,  his  mind  half 
idiotic,  when  first  (for  his  eyes  had  been  fixed  downwards 
on  the  growing,  encroaching  waters)  he  caught  a  glimpse, 
in  the  failing  daylight,  of  the  black  outline  of  a  boat,  not 
twenty  yards  from  him,  and  caught  the  sound  of  its  plash- 
ing oars.  He  stared  eagerly  at  it,  and  just  as  it  came 
beside  him  he  lost  all  his  strength,  uttered  a  faint  cry,  and 
slipped  down  faiutiug  into  the  waves. 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY -NINTH 

ON    THE    DARK    SEA. 

IN  a  moment  Walter's  strong  arms  had  caught  him,  und 
lifted  him  tenderly  into  the  boat.  While  the  waves 
tossed  them  up  and  down  they  placed  him  at  full  length 
as  comfortably  as  they  could — which  was  not  7ery  comfort- 
ably— and  though  his  clothes  were  streaming  with  salt 
water,  and  his  fainting  fit  still  continued,  they  began  at 
once  to  row  home.  For,  by  this  time  it  was  dim  twilight ; 
the  wind  was  blowing  great  guns,  the  clouds  were  full  of 
dark  wrath,  and  the  stormy  billows  rose  higher  and  higher. 
There  was  no  time  to  spare,  and  it  would  be  as  much  as  they 
could  do  to  provide  for  their  own  safety.  The  tide  was  al- 
ready bumping  them  against  the  cliff  at  the  place  where, 
just  in  time,  they  had  rescued  Kenrick,  and,  in  order  to 
get  themselves  fairly  off,  Walter,  forgetting  for  a  moment, 
pushed  out  his  oar  and  pressed  against  the  cliff.  The 
damaged  oar  was  weak  enough  already,  and  instantly  Wal- 
ter saw  that  his  vigorous  shove  had  weakened  and  displaced 
the  old  splicing  of  the  blade.  Charlie  too  observed  it,  but 
neither  of  them  spoke  a  word  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  little 
boy  was  at  his  place,  oar  iu  rullock,  and  immediately  smote 
lightly  and  in  good  time  the  surface  of  the  water,  splashed 
it  into  white  foam,  and  pulled  with  gallant  strokes. 

They  made  but  little  way  ;  the  waves  pitched  them  so 
high  and  dropped  them  with  such  a  heavy  fall  between  their 
rolling  troughs,  that  rowing  became  almost  impossible,  and 
the  miserable  old  boat  shipped  quantities  of  water.  At 
last,  after  a  stronger  pull  that  usual,  Walter's  oar  creaked, 

396 


TOO    YOUNG    TO    DIE.  397 

snapped,  and  gave  way,  flinging  him  on  his  back.  The 
loosened  twine  with  which  it  had  been  spliced  was  halt 
rotten  with  age  ;  it  broke  in  several  places,  the  oar  blade 
fell  off  and  floated  away — and  Walter  was  left  holding  in 
both  hands  a  broken  and  futile  stump. 

"  My  God,  it  is  all  over  with  us  !"  was  the  wild  cry  that 
the  sudden  and  awful  misfortune  wrung  from  his  lips  ;  while 
Charlie,  shipping  his  now  useless  oar,  clung  round  his  bro- 
ther's neck  and  cried  aloud.  The  three  boys — one  of  them 
faint,  exhausted,  and  speechless — were  in  an  unsafe  and 
oarless  boat  on  the  open  tempestuous  sea,  weltering  hope- 
lessly at  the  cruel  mercy  of  winds  and  waves  ;  a  current 
was  sweeping  them  they  k.iew  not  whither,  and  the  wind, 
howling  like  a  hurricane,  was  driving  them  farther  and  far- 
ther away  from  land. 

"  0  Walter,  I  can't  die,  I  can't  die  yet ;  and  not  out  ol 
this  black  sea,  away  from  every  one  !" 

"  From  every  one  but  God,  Charlie  ;  and  I  am  with  you. 
Cheer  up,  little  brother,  God  will  not  desert  us." 

"  0  Walter,  pray  to  God  for  you  and  me  and  Kenrick  ; 
pray  to  Him  for  life." 

"  We  will  both  pray,  Charlie  ;"  and  folding  his  arms 
round  him,  for  now  that  the  rowing  was  over  and  there  was 
nothing  left  to  do,  the  little  boy  was  frightened  at  the  in- 
creasing gloom,  Walter,  calm  even  at  that  wild  moment, 
with  the  calm  of  a  clear  conscience  and  a  noble  heart, 
poured  forth  his  soul  in  words  of  supplication,  while  Char- 
lie, his  voice  half  stifled  with  tears,  sobbed  out  a  terrified 
response  and  echo  to  his  prayer. 

And  after  the  prayer  Walter's  heart  was  lightened  and 
his  spirit  strengthened,  till  he  felt  ready  in  himself  to  meet 
anything  and  brave  any  fate  ;  but  his  soul  ached  with  pitj 
for  his  little  brother  and  for  his  friend.  It  was  his  duty  tc 
cheer  them  both  and  do  what  could  be  done.     Kenrick  had 


398  FROM  DEATH  TO  DEATH. 

sc  far  recuvered  as  to  move  and  say  a  few  words,  and  ilia 
brothers  were  by  his  side  in  a  moment. 

"  You  have  saved  my  life,  Walter,  when  I  had  given  it 
np  :  saved  it,  I  hope,  to  some  purpose  this  time,"  he  whis- 
pered, unconscious  as  yet  of  his  position  ;  and  he  dragged 
up  his  feet  out  of  the  pool  of  water  in  which  they  were 
lying  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  But  gradually  the  situa 
tion  dawned  upon  him.  "  How  is  it  you're  not  rowing  V 
he  asked  ;  "are  you  tired?  let  me  try,  I  think  I  could 
manage." 

"  It  would  be  of  no  use,  Ken,"  said  Walter  ;  "  I  mean 
that  we  can't  row,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  broken  oar. 

"Then  you  have  saved  me  at  the  risk,  perhaps  at  the 
cost,  of  your  own  lives.  O  you  noble,  noble  Walter  1" 
said  Kenrick,  the  tears  gushing  from  his  eyes.  "  How 
awfully  terrible  this  is  !  I  seem  to  be  snatched  from  death 
to  death.  Life  and  death  are  battling  for  me  to-night  ; 
yes,  eternal  life  and  death  too,"  he  whispered  in  Walter's 
ear,  catching  him  by  the  wrist.  "  All  this  danger  is  for 
me,  Walter,  and  for  my  sin.  I  am  like  Jonah  in  the  ship ; 
I  have  been  buffeting  death  away  for  hours,  but  he  has 
been  sent  for  me,  he  must  do  his  mission.  I  see  that  I  can- 
not escape,  but,  0  God,  I  hope  that  you  will  escape,  Walter. 
Your  life  and  Charlie's  must  not  ue  spilt  for  mine." 

It  was  barely  light  enough  to  see  his  face,  but  it  looked 
wild  and  haggard  in  the  ragged  gleams  of  moonlight  which 
the  black  flitting  clouds  suffered  to  break  forth  at  intervals  ; 
and  his  words,  after  this,  were  too  incoherent  to  understand. 
Walter  saw  that  the  long  intensity  of  fear  had  rendered 
aim  half  delirious  and  not  master  of  himself.  Soon  after 
he  sank  into  a  stupor,  half  sleep,  half  exhaustion,  and  even 
the  lurching  of  the  boat  did  not  rouse  him  any  more. 

"  Walter,  he's  asleep,  or — oh  !  is  he  dead,  Walter  5* 
asked  Charlie,  in  horror. 


NIGHT    AND    STOliM.  399 

"  No,  no,  Charlie  ;  tiiere,  put  your  hand  upon  his  heart 
fou  see  it  beats  ;  he  is  only  exhausted,  and  in  a  sort  of 
nvoon." 

"But  he  will  be  pitched  over,  Walter." 

"  Then  I'll  show  you  what  we'll  do,  Charlie.  We  must 
make  the  best  of  everything."  Walter  lifted  up  the  use- 
less rudder,  pulled  out  the  string  of  it  to  lash  Kenrick  safely 
to  the  stern  bench  by  which  he  lay,  and  took  off  his  own 
coat  in  order  to  cover  him  up  that  he  might  sleep  ;  and  then, 
anxious  above  all  things  to  relieve  Charlie's  terror,  the  un- 
selfish boy,  thinking  only  of  others,  sat  beside  him  on  the 
centre  bench,  and  encircled  him  with  a  protecting  arm. 
And,  as  though  to  increase  their  misery,  the  cold  rain  be- 
gan to  fall  in  torrents. 

"  0  Walter,  it's  so  cold,  and  wet,  and  stormy,  and  pitch 
dark.  I'm  frightened,  Walter.  I  try  not  to  be,  bin 
I  can't  help  it.  Take  me  on  your  knees  and  pray  for  us 
again." 

Walter  took  him  on  his  knees,  and  laid  his  head  against 
his  own  breast,  and  folded  him  in  his  arms,  and  wiped  his 
tears  ;  and  the  little  boy's  sobs  ceased  as  Walter's  voice 
rose  once  more  in  a  strain  of  intense  prayer. 

"  Walter,  God  must  grant  that  prayer  ;  I'm  sure  he  must ; 
he  can't  reject  it,"  said  Charlie,  simply. 

"  He  will  answer  it  in  the  way  best  for  us,  Charlie  ; 
whatever  that  is." 

"  But  shall  we  die  ?"  asked  his  brother  again,  with  a  cold 
shudder  at  the  word. 

"Remember  what  you  said  just  now,  Charlie,  and  be 
brave.  Bat  even  if  we  were  to  die,  could  we  die  better, 
little  brother,  than  in  doing  our  duty,  and  trying  to  save 
dearKen's  life  ?  It  isn't  such  a  very  terrible  thing,  Charlie, 
after  all.  We  must  all  die  some  time,  you  know,  and  boys 
aave  died  as  young  aud  younger  than  you  or  me  " 


1:00  OCEAN    GRAVES. 

"  Aye,  but  not  like  this,  Walter  :  out  in  these  icy,  black 
aorrid  waters." 

"  Yes,  they  have  indeed,  Charlie  ; — little  friendless  sailoi 
boys  dashed  on  far-away  rocks  that  splintered  their  ships 
to  atoms,  or  swallowed  up  when  their  vessels  foundered  in 
great  typhoons,  thousands  of  miles  away  from  home  and 
England,  in  unknown  seas  ; — little  boys  like  you,  Charlie  ; 
and  they  have  died  bravely,  too,  though  no  living  soul  was 
near  them  to  hear  their  cries,  and  nothing  to  mark  their 
graves  but  the  bubble  for  one  minute  while  they  sank." 

"  Have  they,  Walter  ?" 

"  Aye,  many  and  many  a  time  they  have  ;  and  the  same 
God  who  called  for  their  lives  gave  them  courage  and 
strength  to  die,  as  He  will  give  us  if  there  is  need." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Charlie  said,  "Talk  to  me, 
Walter  ;  it  prevents  my  listening  to  the  flapping  and  plung- 
ing of  the  boat,  and  all  the  other  noises.     Walter,  I  think 
.  I  think  we  shall  die." 

"  Courage,  brother,  I  have  hope  yet ;  and  if  we  die  we 
will  die  like  this  together — I  will  not  let  you  go.  Our 
bodies  shall  be  washed  ashore  together — not  separated, 
Charlie,  even  in  death." 

"You  have  been  a  dear,  dear  good  brother  to  me.  How 
I  love  you,  Walter !"  and  as  he  pressed  yet  closer  to 
him,  he  said  more  bravely,  "  What  hope  have  you  then, 
Walter  ?" 

"  Look  up,  Charlie  ;  you  see  that  light  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  what  is  it  ?" 

"  Sharksfin  Lighthouse  ;  don't  you  remember  seeing  it 
sometimes  at  night  from  St.  Win's  ?  Yes  ;  and  those  lights 
twinkling  far  off  arc  St.  Win's.  Those  must  be  the  school 
lights  ;  and  those  long  windows  you  can  just  see  are  the 
chapel  windows.  They  are  in  chapel  now,  or  the  lights 
wouldn't  be  there.     Perhaps  some  of  our  friends — Power, 


A   LAST    HOPE.  401 

perhaps,  and  Eden — are  praying  for  us  ;    they  must  have 
missed  us  since  tea-time." 

"  How  I  wish  we  were  with  them  !" 

■'  Perhaps  we  may  be  again  ;  and  all  the  wiser  and  bet- 
ter in  heart  and  life  for  this  solemn  time,  Charlie.  If  we 
are  but  carried  by  this  wind  and  current  within  hearing  of 
the  lighthouse  I" 

The  Sharksfin  Lighthouse  is  built  on  a  sharp  high  rock 
two  miles  out  at  sea.  I  have  watched  it  from  Bleak  Point 
on  a  bright,  warm  summer's  day,  when  the  promontory 
around  me  was  all  ablaze  with  purple  heather  and  golden 
gorse,  and  there  was  not  breeze  enough  to  shake  the  wing 
of  the  butterfly  as  it  rested  on  the  blue-bell,  or  disturb  the 
honey-laden  bee  as  it  murmured  in  the  thyme.  Yet  eveu 
then  the  waters  were  seething  and  boiling  in  never-ended 
tumult  about  those  hideous  sunken  rocks  ;  and  the  ocean 
all  around  was  hoary  as  with  the  neezings  of  a  thousand 
leviathans  floundering  in  its  monstrous  depths.  You  may 
guess  what  they  are  on  a  wild  February  night  ; — hew,  in 
the  mighty  rush  of  the  Atlantic,  the  torn  breakers  beat 
about  then  with  tremendous  rage,  till  the  whole  sea  is  in 
angry  motion  like  some  demon  caldron  that  seethes  over 
roaring  flame. 

Drifting  along,  or  rather  flung  aud  battered  about  on  the 
current,  they  passed  within  near  sight  of  the  lighthouse, 
and  they  might  have  thanked  God  that  they  passed  no 
nearer,  for  to  have  passed  nearer  would  have  been  certain 
doath.  The  white  waves  dashed  over  it,  enveloped  its  tall 
strong  pillar  that  buffeted  them  back,  like  a  noble  will  in 
the  midst  of  calumny  and  persecution  ;  they  fell  back  hiss- 
ing and  discomfited,  and  could  not  dim  its  silver  or  quench 
'ts  flame  ;  but  it  glowed  on  with  steady  lustre  in  the  midst 
of  them — flung  its  victorious  path  of  splendor  over  their 
raging  motion,  warned  from   the  sunken  reef  the  weary 


£02  THE  LAST  HOPE  QUENCHED. 

mariner,  and  looked  forth  untroubled  with  its  broad,  calm 
eye  into  the  madness  and  fury  of  the  tempest-haunted 
night. 

Through  this  broad  track  of  light  the  boat  was  driven, 
and  Walter  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice  with  all  his  re- 
maining strength.  The  three  men  in  the  lighthouse  fancied 
indeed,  as  they  acknowledged  afterwards,  that  they  had 
heard  some  shouts  ;  but  strange,  mysterious,  inarticulate 
voices  are  often  borne  upon  the  wind,  and  haunt  always  the 
lonely  wastes  of  foamy  sea.  The  lighthouse  men  had  often 
heard  these  unexplained  wailings  and  weird  screams.  Many 
a  time  they  had  looked  out,  and  been  so  continually  de- 
ceived, that  unless  human  accents  were  unmistakeable  and 
well  defined,  they  attribute  these  sounds  to  other  agencies, 
or  to  the  secret  phenomena  of  the  worst  storms.  And 
even  if  they  had  heard,  what  could  they  have  done,  or  how 
have  launched  their  boat  when  the  billows  were  running 
mountain-high  about  their  perilous  rock  ? 

Charlie  had  been  quiet  for  a  long  time,  his  face  hidden 
on  Walter's  shoulder  ;  but  he  had  seen  the  glare  which  the 
light  threw  across  the  waves,  and  had  observed  that  they 
had  gradually  been  driven  through  it  into  blackness  again, 
and  he  asked,  "Have  we  passed  the  lighthouse,  Walter?" 

"  We  have." 

44  Oh,  I  am  so  hungry  and  burning  with  thirst  !  Oh, 
what  shall  we  do  ?" 

"  Try  not  to  think  about  it,  Charlie  ; — a  little  fasting 
won't  hurt  us  much." 

Another  long  pause,  during  which  they  clung  more  closelv 
fco  each  other,  and  their  hearts  beat  side  by  side,  and  then 
Charlie  said,  in  a  barely  articulate  whisper — 

14  Walter  !" 

44 1  know  what  you  are  going  to  say,  Charlie." 

44  The  water  in  the  boat  is  nearly  up  to  ray  knees.'' 


NEAR   THE    END.  403 

"  We  have  shipped  a  great  deal,  you  know." 

"  Yes  ;  and  besides  that " 

"  Yes,  it  is  true  ;  there  is  a  leak.  Do  you  mind  my  pub 
ting  you  dowu  and  trying  what  I  can  do  to  bale  the  watei 
out  ?" 

"  0  Walter,  don't  put  me  off  your  knee  ; — don't  let  go 
of  me." 

"Very  well,  Charlie  ;  it  wouldn't  be  of  much  use." 

"  Good  God  1"  cried  the  little  boy  in  a  paroxysm  of 
agony,  "  we  are  sinking — we  are  foundering  !" 

They  wound  their  arms  round  each  other,  and  Walter 
said,  "  It  is  even  so,  my  darling  brother.  Death  is  near, 
but  God  is  with  us  ;  and  if  it  is  death,  then  death  means 
rest  and  heaven.  Good-bye,  Charlie,  good-bje  ;  we  will  be 
close  together  till  the  end." 


CHAPTER  THE  FORTIETH. 

WHAT    THE    SEA    GAVE    UP. 

ANXTETY  reigned  at  St.  Winifred's,  succeeded  bj 
consternation  and  intense  grief.  Little  was  thought 
of  the  absence  of  the  three  boys  at  tea-time,  but  when 
it  came  to  chapel-tirne  and  bed-time,  and  they  had  not  yet 
appeared,  and  when  next  morning  it  was  found  that  they 
had  not  been  heard  of  during  the  night,  every  one  became 
seriously  alarmed,  and  all  the  neighboring  country  was 
searched  for  intelligence. 

The  place  on  the  cliff  where  Kenrick  had  descended  was 
observed,  but  as  the  traces  showed  that  only  one  boy  had 
gone  down  there,  the  discovery,  so  far  from  explaining  mat- 
ters, only  rendered  them  more  inexplicable.  Additional 
light  was  thrown  on  the  subject  by  the  disappearance  of 
Bryce's  boat,  and  the  worst  fears  seemed  to  be  confirmed 
by  his  information  that  it  was  a  ricketty  old  concern,  only 
intended  to  paddle  in  smooth  weather  close  to  the  shore. 
But  what  earthly  reason  could  have  induced  three  boys  to 
venture  out  in  such  a  tub  on  so  wild  a  night  ?  That  the) 
did  it  for  pleasure  was  inconceivable,  the  more  so  as  rowing 
was  strictly  forbidden  ;  and  as  no  other  reason  could  be 
suggested,  all  conjecture  was  at  fault. 

The  fishermen  went  out  in  their  smacks,  but  found  no 
traces,  and  gained  no  tidings  of  the  missing  boys  ;  and  all 
through  that  weary  and  anxious  day  the  belief  that  they 
bad  been  lost  at  sea  gained  ground.  Almost  all  day  Power, 
and  Eden,  and  Henderson,  had  been  gazing  out  to  sea,  or 
wandering  on  the  shore,  in  the  vain  hope  of  seeing  them 
wine  rowing  across  the  bay  ;  but  all  the  sailors  on  the 

404 


WHAT   THE    SEA    GAVE    UP    NEXT    DAY.  405 

shore  affirmed  that  if  they  had  gone  out  in  an  open  boat, 
and  particularly  in  Bryce's  boat,  it  was  an  utter  impossi- 
bility  that  they  could  have  outlived  the  tempest  of  the 
preceding  night. 

At  last,  towards  the  evening,  the  sea  gave  up,  not  indeed 
her  dead,  but  what  was  accepted  as  a  positive  proof  of 
their  wretched  fate.  Henderson,  who  was  in  a  fever  of 
excitement,  which  Power  vainly  strove  to  allay,  was  walk 
ing  with  him  and  Eden,  who  was  hardly  less  troubled, 
along  the  beach,  when  he  caught  sight  of  something  float- 
ing along,  rising  and  falling  on  the  dumb  sullen  swell  of  the 
advancing  tide.  He  thought  and  declared  at  first,  with  a 
start  of  horror,  that  it  was  the  light  hair  of  a  drowned 
boy  ;  but  they  very  soon  saw  that  it  could  not  be  that, 
and  dashing  in  waist-deep  after  it,  Henderson  brought  out 
the  torn  and  battered  fragments  of  a  straw  hat.  The  ribbon, 
of  dark  blue  and  white,  though  soaked  and  discolored,  still 
served  to  identify  it  as  having  belonged  to  a  St.  Winifred's 
boy  ;  and,  carefully  examining  the  flannel  lining,  they  saw 
on  a  piece  of  linen  sewn  upon  it — only  too  legible  still — 
the  name  "  H.  Kenrick."  Nor  was  this  all  they  found. 
The  discovery  had  quickened  their  search,  and  soon  after- 
wards Power,  with  a  sudden  suppressed  cry,  pointed  to 
something  black,  lying,  with  a  dreadful  look  about  it,  at  a 
far  part  of  the  sand.  Again  their  hearts  grew  cold,  and 
running  up  to  it  they  all  recognised,  with  fresh  horror  and 
despair,  the  coat  which  Walter  had  last  worn.  They  recog- 
nised it,  but  besides  this,  to  place  the  matter  beyond  a 
doubt,  his  name  was  marked  on  the  inside  of  the  sleeve.  In 
one  of  the  pockets  was  his  school  note-book,  with  all  the 
notes  he  had  taken,  and  the  playful  caricatures  which  here 
and  there  he  had  scribbled  over  the  pages  ;  and  in  the  other, 
Btained  with  the  salt  water,  and  tearing  at  every  touch, 
were  the  letters  he  had  last  received. 


1:06  eden's  confidence. 

All  the  next  day  tho  doubt  was  growing  into  certainty, 
Mv  and  Mrs.  Evson  were  summoned  from  Semlyn,  and 
came  with  feelings  that  cannot  be  depicted.  Power  gave 
to  Mrs.  Evson  the  coat  he  had  picked  up,  and  he  and  Hen- 
derson hardly  ever  left  the  parents  of  their  friend,  doing 
all  they  could  to  cheer  their  spirits  and  support  in  them  the 
hopes  they  could  hardly  feel  themselves.  To  this  day  Mrs. 
Evson  cherishes  that  coat  as  a  dear  and  sacred  relic,  which 
reminds  her  of  the  mercy  which  sustained  her  during  the 
first  great  agony  which  she  had  endured  in  her  happy  life. 
Power  kept  poor  Kenrick's  hat,  for  no  relation  of  his  was 
there  to  claim  it. 

Another  day  dawned,  and  settled  grief  and  gloom  fell  on. 
all  alike  at  St.  Winifred's — the  boys,  the  masters,  the  in 
habitants.  The  sight  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evson's  speechless 
anguish  oppressed  all  hearts,  and  by  this  time  hope  seemed 
quenched  for  ever.  For  now  one  boy  only — though  young 
hearts  are  slow  to  give  up  hope — had  refused  to  believe  the 
worst.  It  was  Eden.  He  persisted  that  the  three  boys 
must  have  been  picked  up.  The  belief  had  come  upon  him 
suddenly,  and  grown  upon  him  he  knew  not  how,  but  he 
was  sure  of  it  ;  and  therefore  his  society  brought  most  re- 
lief and  comfort  to  the  torn  heart  of  the  mother.  "  What 
made  him  so  confident  V1  she  asked.  He  did  not  know  ; 
he  had  seen  it,  or  dreamt  it,  or  felt  it  somehow,  only  he 
felt  unalterably  convinced  that  so  it  was.  "  They  will 
come  back,  clear  Mrs.  Evson  they  will  come  back,  you  will 
see,"  was  his  repeated  asseveration  ;  and  oppressed  as  her 
heart  was  with  doubt  and  fear,  she  was  never  weary  of 
those  words. 

And  on  the  fourth  day,  while  Mr.  Evson  was  absent, 
having  gone  to  make  enquiries  in  London  of  all  the  ships 
which  had  passed  by  St.  Winifred's  on  that  day,  Eden, 
radiant  with  joy,  rushed  into  Dr.  Lane's  drawing-room, 


OIVKN    BACK.  407 

where  Mrs.  Evson  was  sitting,  and  utterly  regardless 
of  les  convenances,  burst  out  with  the  exclamation,  "  Oh, 
Mrs.  Evson,  it  is  true,  it  is  true  what  I  always  told 
you.  Didn't  I  say  that  I  knew  it  ?  They  have  been 
picked  up." 

"  Hush,  my  boy  ;  steady,"  whispered  Mrs.  Lane  ;  "  you 
should  have  delivered  the  message  less  suddenly.  The 
revulsion  of  feeling  from  sorrow  to  joy  will  be  too  much 
for  her." 

"  0  Eden,  tell  me,"  said  the  mother  faintly,  recalling 
her  senses  bewildered  by  the  shock  of  intelligence  ;  "  are 
you  certain  ?     Oh,  where  are  my  boys  ?" 

"  You  will  see  them  soon,"  he  said  very  gently  ;  and 
the  next  moment,  to  confirm  his  words,  the  door  again 
flew  open,  and  Charlie  Evson  was  wrapped  in  his  mother's 
arms,  and  strained  to  her  heart,  and  covered  with  her 
kisses,  and  his  bright  young  face  bathed  in  her  tears  of  gra- 
titude and  joy. 

"  Charlie,  darling  Charlie,  where  is  Walter  ?"  were  her 
6rst  words. 

"  What,  don't  you  know  me  then,  mother  ;  and  have 
you  no  kiss  to  spare  for  me  ?"  said  the  playful  voice  of  a 
boy  enveloped  in  a  sailor's  blue  shell  jacket  ;  and  then  it 
was  Walter's  turn  to  feei  in  that  long  embrace  what  is  the 
agonising  fondness  of  a  mother's  love. 

Kenrick  was  looking  on  a  little  sadly — not  envious,  but 
made  sorrowful  by  memory.  But  the  next  moment  Wal- 
ter, taking  him  by  the  hand,  had  introduced  him  to  his 
mother,  and  she  kissed  him  too  on  the  cheek.  "  Your 
name  is  so  familiar  to  me,  Kenrick,"  she  said  ;  "  and  you 
have  shared  their  dangers." 

"  Walter  has  twice  saved  my  life,  Mrs.  Evson,"  he  ans 
wered  ;  "  and  this  time,  1  trust,  he  has  saved  it  in  mora 
senses  than  one  " 


408  the  boys'  story. 

The  boys'  story  was  soon  told.  Just  as  their  boat  m<  as 
beginning  to  sink,  and  the  bitterness  of  death  seemed  over, 
Walter  caught  sight  of  the  lights  of  a  ship,  and  saw  her 
huge  dark  outline  looming  not  far  from  them,  and  towerinur 
above  the  waves.  Instantly  he  and  Charlie  had  shouted 
with  all  the  frantic  energy  of  reviving  hope.  By  God's 
mercy  their  shouts  had  been  heard  ;  in  spite  of  the  risk  and 
difficulty  caused  by  the  turbulence  of  the  night,  the  ship 
hove  to,  the  long-boat  was  manned,  and  the  amazed  sailors 
had  rescued  them  not  ten  minutes  before  their  wretched 
boat  swirled  round  and  sank  to  the  bottom. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  care  and  tenderness  with 
which  the  sailors  and  the  good  captain  of  the  "  Morning 
Star"  had  treated  them.  The  genial  warmth  of  the  can- 
tain's  cabin,  the  food  and  wine  of  which  they  stood  so 
much  in  need,  the  rest  and  quiet,  and  a  long,  long  sleep, 
continued  for  nearly  twenty-four  hours,  had  recruited  their 
failing  strength,  and  restored  them  to  perfect  health.  Past 
St.  Winifred's  Bay  extends  for  miles  and  miles  a  long 
range  of  iron-bound  coast,  and  this  circumstance,  together 
with  the  violence  of  the  breeze  blowing  away  from  land, 
had  prevented  the  captain  from  having  any  opportunity 
of  putting  them  ashore  until  the  morning  of  this  day, 
when,  with  kind-hearted  liberality,  he  had  also  supplied 
them  with  the  money  requisite  to  pay  their  way  to  St. 
Winifred's. 

"  You  can't  think  how  jolly  it  was  on  board,  mother," 
said  Charlie.  "  I've  learnt  all  about  ships,  and  it  was  such 
fun  ;  and  they  were  all  as  kind  to  us  as  possible." 

"  Yon  mustn't  suppose  we  didn't  think  of  you,  mother 
dearest,"  said  Walter,  "and  how  anxious  you  would  be; 
but  we  felt  sure  you  would  believe  that  some  ship  had 
picked  us  up." 

"  Yes,  Walter  ;  and  to  taste  this  joy  is  worth  any  past 


REJOICINGS.  409 

sorrow,"  said  his  mother  "  You  must  thank  your  friend 
Eden  for  mainly  keeping  up  my  spirits,  for  he  was  al- 
most the  only  person  who  maintained  that  you  were  still 
alive." 

"And  now,  Mrs.  Evson,''  said  Power,  "  you  must  spare 
them  for  ten  minutes,  for  the  masters  and  all  the  school 
are  impatient  to  see  and  congratulate  them." 

The  whole  story  had  spread  among  the  boys  in  ten 
minutes,  and  they  were  again  proud  to  recognise  Walter's 
chivalrous  daring.  When  he  appeared  in  the  blue  jacket 
with  which  Captain  Peters  had  replaced  the  loss  of  his 
coat,  with  Kenrick's  arm  in  his,  and  holding  Charlie's 
hand,  cheer  after  cheer  broke  from  the  assembled  boys  ; 
and  finally,  unable  to  repress  their  joy  and  euthusiasm.  they 
lifted  the  three  on  their  shoulders  and  chaired  them  all 
round  the  court. 

You  may  suppose  that  it  was  a  joyful  dinner  party  that 
evening  at  Dr.  Lane's.  Mr.  Evson,  as  they  had  conjec- 
tured, had  heard  of  his  sons'  safety  in  London  from  the 
captain  of  the  "  Morning  Star,"  to  whom  he  had  tendered 
his  warmest  and  most  grateful  thanks,  and  to  whom,  bo- 
fore  leaving  London,  he  had  presented,  in  testimony  of  his 
gratitude,  an  exquisite  chronometer.  Returning  to  St. 
Winifred's,  he  found  his  two  boys  seated  happily  in  the 
drawing-room  awaiting  him,  each  with  their  mother's  harjd 
in  theirs,  and  in  the  company  of  their  best  boy-friendf-;. 
Walter  was  still  in  the  blue  shell  jacket,  which  became  him 
weii,  and  which  neither  Mrs.  Lane  nor  the  boys  would 
suffer  him  to  change.  It  was  indeed  an  evening  never  to 
be  forgotten,  and  hardly  less  joyous  and  rememberable  was 
die  grand  breakfast  which  the  Sixth  gave  to  Walter  and 
Keurick  in  memory  of  the  event,  and  to  which,  by  special 
exception,  little  Charlie  was  also  invited. 
The  lives  of  these  brave  boy.s  were  saved  for  greatel 


410  FROM  STRENGTH  TO  STRENGTH. 

and  better  things.  These  three  young  boys  had  stood  face 
to  face  with  sudden  death.  Death,  as  it  were,  had  laid 
his  hand  on  their  shoulders,  had  taken  them  by  the  hair 
an  i  looked  upon  them,  and  bade  them  commune  with  them- 
selves ;  and,  when  he  released  them  from  that  stern,  cold 
grasp,  it  gave  to  their  lives  an  awful  reality.  It  did  not 
quench,  indeed,  their  natural  mirthfulness,  but  it  filled 
them  with  strong  purposes  and  high  thoughts.  Kenrick 
returned  to  St.  Winifred's  a  changed  boy  ;  long-continued 
terror  had  quiet  altered  the  expression  of  his  countenance, 
but,  while  this  effect  soon  wore  off,  the  moral  effects  pro- 
duced in  him  were  happily  permanent.  He  began  a  life  in 
earnest;  for  him  there  was  no  more  lisilessuess,  or  moody 
tits  of  sorrow,  or  bursts  of  wayward  self-indulgence.  He 
became  strenuous,  diligent,  modest,  earnest,  kind  ;  he  too 
like  Walter  and  Charlie,  began  his  career  '•from  strength 
to  strength.'''  Under  him,  and  Power,  and  Walter,  and 
others,  whom  their  influence  had  formed  or  who  had  been 
moulded  by  the  tradition  they  had  left  behind  them,  St. 
Winifred's  flourished  more  and  more,  and  added  new  hon 
ors  and  benefits  to  its  old  and  famous  name.  At  the  end 
of  that  half  year  Power  left,  but  not  until  he  had  won 
the  Baiiiol  scholarship  and  carried  off  nearly  all  the  prizes 
in  the  school.  Walter  succeeded  him  as  head  of  the 
school  ;  and  he  and  Kenrick  (who  was  restored  to  his  old 
place  on  the  list)  worked  heart  and  soul  together  for  tho 
good  of  it.  In  those  days  it  was  indeed  in  a  happy  and 
prosperous  state — renowned  and  honored  without,  well 
governed  and  high  toned  within.  Dr.  Lane  felt  and  ac- 
knowledged that  much  of  this  success  was  due  to  the  ex- 
ample and  to  the  vigor  of  these  head  boys.  Power,  when 
he  left,  was  loved  and  distinguished  ;  Waller  and  Kenrick 
trode  in  his  steps.  To  the  boundless  delight  of  the  school, 
they  too  carried  off  in  one  year  the  highest  open  scholar 


CHARLIE    HEAD    OF    THE    SCHOOL.  4-11 

ship  at  eacli  University  ;  and  when  they  also  left,  they  had 
been  as  successful  as  Power,  and  were,  if  possible,  even 
more  universally  beloved.  Whalley  carried  on  for  another 
year  the  high  tradition,  and,  in  due  time,  little  Charlie  also 
attained  the  head  place  in  the  school,  and  so  behaved  as  to 
identify  his  name  and  Walter's  with  some  of  its  happiest 
and  wisest  institutions  for  many  years 


THE    END, 


t* : 


M%ite^ 


J4^ 


1 


3\Q± 


/£?A\ 


£5 


Sb3fe*K 


fe 


Wm< 


. 


#1 


m> 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A  A      000  245  511    1 


M 


